


The Road to Faerie

by Multiple_Universes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Faeries - Freeform, Fluff, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell AU, M/M, Madness, Magician Katsuki Yuuri, Temporary Character Death, book AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 100,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: “A magician will come to England,” Georgi said in the voice one uses when delivering a prophecy. “He will long to see me, but I will remain beyond his reach. He will aspire to greatness, but will be the cause of his own undoing. Men and women will gather around him, but there will hardly be a friend among them. He will give his heart away and yet always feel it ache. Troubled shall be the kingless days: the trees shall go silent, the sky shall refuse to speak and many roads shall turn on themselves. The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it. The stones shall make a throne for me and I shall sit upon it. Nothing and no one shall escape me.”





	1. No More Magic in England

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the really long hiatus! I was working to get this fic done on time! Hopefully once I post it in full I can get back to my other WIPs! A big thank you to [Wafa](waffles-doodles-you-all.tumblr.com) for providing the lovely art for this fic!! You can see the tumblr post for it [here](https://waffles-doodles-you-all.tumblr.com/post/183571418387/just-did-a-bang-with-witharthurkirkland-for-her).
> 
> I don't know how many people reading this have read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke, but while this fic uses the universe of that book I made a few tweaks to it here and there!
> 
> Also: even though everyone lives in England and there are references to “English” magic, everyone still gets to keep their ethnic background (I hope you will all forgive me for not including a long explanation of how everyone made it to England).

There was once in the city of York a society of magicians. They met on the second Tuesday of every month to have long and dull conversations about the history of magic. They were all theoretical magicians, which is to say that not a single one of them has ever, by an act of magic, made one stone move, changed one hair upon a person’s head or done a service for anyone living or dead. Despite this, they were all of them convinced that they were doing a great service for their country by their existence alone.

On a Tuesday in the middle of December a new member joined their group. He came from the Manchester Society of Magicians and he introduced himself very timidly as Guang Hong Ji.

“Gentlemen, I cannot express what a great honour it is to be in your society,” he began, standing before them, “especially as I was hoping you would be able to answer a question I cannot.”

Several of the gentlemen in the room gave him a curious look. Nothing pleased them more than people showing them the respect that they thought was theirs by right.

Mr. Ji faltered a little upon noticing that everyone’s attention was on him. The man sitting closest to him gave him an encouraging smile.

“I wish to know why it is that I only learn about great feats of magic from books, but never see them done with my own to eyes. That is to say, I wish to know why there is no more magic done in England.”

A laughter passed through the room as various gentlemen exchanged mocking looks with their neighbours.

Mr. Ji’s cheeks turned a pale pink. “We are magicians, are we not?” he asked.

The president of the club gave the new member a haughty look. “What you ask is the wrong question entirely,” he declared. “We are gentleman magicians. Would you ask a botanist to create a new species of flower or an astronomer to make new stars in the sky? If you wish to see cheap parlour tricks or something of that sort, I dare say there is any number of yellow curtain magicians out in the streets who will show you what you wish to see.”

Mr. Ji sat down at the table, feeling humiliated and wishing more than anything that he had not come here at all.

The man who had given him an encouraging smile continued to give him a warm look. He waited for the discussion to turn to other topics before leaning towards the new member and confiding in a whisper, “I, too, have often wondered why no more magic is done in England and how we lost the language in which every book of magic is written.”

Several English linguists were studying the larger books of magic, but – as far as every theoretical magician was aware – no one had succeeded in translating any of them. The only information about the books that could be found in English was in letters which mentioned authors and names of books.

Guang Hong gave him a grateful look but remained silent, having no wish to spark an argument at the table.

When the society dispersed and went their separate ways Mr. Ji stepped out onto an old street with his new acquaintance at his side.

“My name is Leo de la Iglesia,” the man introduced himself, “and I propose that we join forces to find the answer to your question.”

Mr. Ji agreed readily and de la Iglesia invited his new friend to join him in his carriage and pay him a visit. Not wishing to offend his new friend, Mr. Ji accepted the invitation.

Mr. de la Iglesia came from a family of some means and, not cursed with an extravagant taste, lived comfortably in a house in the middle of York. Mr. Ji, on the other hand, had not been so fortunate and it was only his interest in magic that made him devote so much time to it. He had a fanciful nature, which was why, after an evening at his new friend’s house where they both imagined themselves as England’s best magicians, he set off home not in a carriage, but on foot.

The city of York has enough small streets to confuse any newcomer, no matter how carefully they tread. Snow fell thick and fast, covering the roads and making them slippery in some places. The city was full of dark corners that lay in wait for an unwary traveller to swallow them up. Candles burned in windows here and there, but the light remained in the houses as though it was too frightened to venture out of doors.

The two towers of the York Minster appeared up ahead, rising above all the houses. Mr. Ji directed his steps towards it, hoping that once he reached the minster he would be able to regain his bearings.

He had to make many turns before he arrived and by then he was so exhausted he regretted not taking a carriage home. He circled the minster, looking this way and that to see if any of the streets appeared more welcoming than others when he spotted an odd couple walking arm in arm together.

The wind blew snow in his face, making it very difficult to distinguish their features. All he could say with any certainty was that they were both male and of different heights. They walked like a married couple, arm in arm, leaning towards each other, but a few choice exclamations as well as their general air of merriment led Mr. Ji to conclude that they were both the worse for drink.

“You would not!” the taller of the two exclaimed.

The shorter one got indignant about this. “I would!” he insisted.

They carried on thus, laughing and making loud exclamations. Once they reached the tree before the minster they stopped under its branches to exchange a kiss with the air of two people who cared very little about who was watching.

“If you go on insisting thus, then I will require some form of proof from you,” the taller man of the two declared once he broke free of the kiss. He stepped back, but went on holding his companion by the hands.

“Very well then,” the shorter one agreed.

He freed his hands and headed for the minster with determination in every step. He pulled open the door, muttering something under his breath. The taller one followed with a laugh.

Mr. Ji was growing more convinced with every passing minute that they had some sort of mischief in mind and saw it as his duty to interfere.

The York Minster is a formidable structure, a triumph of the stonemason’s craft. It housed some of the largest stain-glass windows in all of Europe and a long line of statues of the kings of England. That day, at that time it was very poorly illuminated so that the ceiling disappeared into the darkness overhead, creating an effect of great vastness, as if the minster rose all the way up to the heavens above.

Mr. Ji eyed his surroundings with a great degree of curiosity. Word had reached him of the wonders of this minster, but, until that moment, he had never set foot inside.

The men Mr. Ji was following made for the row of statues of kings. They had removed their hats upon entering the minster and now, finding themselves in the presence of a long line of kings, they bowed respectfully before them. Candlelight illuminated both of them, giving Mr. Ji a chance to see them clearly for the first time.

The shorter of the two had raven black hair which he wore short. All the features of his face were very handsome to look at. There was a softness in his eyes that spoke of a gentle character, even if the rest of his face still bore the cheery determination of a drunk.

His companion could easily rival him in looks. When Mr. Ji set eyes on the second man he felt his breath catch in his throat. The man’s hair shone with a pale silver light as if someone had woven moonlight into his locks. Despite his careless air, the hair was arranged very carefully on his head.

Both men gave each other looks that spoke very plainly of their great admiration for one another.

The raven-haired man raised his hands, closed his eyes and uttered words Mr. Ji did not hear.

For several seconds nothing happened and then a horrible scraping noise broke the expectant silence. Mr. Ji looked around himself as the sound echoed through the minster. It was as though someone was rubbing two stone slabs against one another. Then a harsh voice joined the grating sound.

Mr. Ji had to listen carefully before he could distinguish a single word of what was said.

The terrible voice was complaining about the person next to them. Just as he reached the end of a sentence a second voice joined it, and a third, and a fourth, until they formed a terrible cacophony that made distinguishing individual words impossible.

The raven-haired man made several steps across the floor before turning around and returning to his companion’s side. “You see now, dear heart?” He took the other man’s hand. “I am willing to grant any of your heart’s desires.”

Mr. Ji’s eyes then fell from the strange couple to the statues of kings behind them. To his great astonishment he discovered that they were all moving and speaking. More than speaking – they were arguing with one another! Like true kings they found the presence of other rulers with the same claims to power difficult to bear.

He walked around them, marvelling at this great feat of…

“Oh!” He rushed back to the odd couple.

“No, no, my love,” the tall man protested. “I am quite satisfied. I wish to retire for the night now.”

“Would you care to walk with me, dear heart?” The short one offered his arm.

The tall man laughed, putting his hand over his mouth. “I would walk anywhere you wished, even,” he paused and grinned wickedly, “even into Faerie itself!”

“Pardon my rude intrusion.” Mr. Ji stepped up to them. “A-are you…” he began and then stopped in some confusion, for what could he possibly ask? One did not, as a rule, march up to strangers and demand to know if they were magicians! “Are you… Were you the one who made the statues speak?”

The men turned to look at him.

“The spell will wear off in a few minutes,” the shorter man said defensively.

 “My name is Guang Hong Ji,” he introduced himself, “and I have come to York with the great desire to discover what had befallen England’s magicians. I was under the impression that no more magic exists in England. I dared not hope that I would find a single practical magician, but to be so fortunate as to find two magicians!” He gestured, unable to express his joy in words.

“Oh no,” the taller of the two said with a laugh. “I am no magician. My husband is the one who deserves all of your admiration. I merely provide an impressed audience. I do my best in this regard, I will have you know! I am Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki and this is Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov protested that his husband did a great deal more than he claimed.

Mr. Ji watched them, feeling his heart fill with affection for these two strangers. In those rare times when he had allowed his imagination run away unchecked he pictured a magician as an elderly gentleman who put on airs of importance, thinking himself above the rest merely because he could do magic.

Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was a very different sort of man. He was humble and quick to assure Mr. Ji that being a magician did not merit a great deal of praise.

There was a little argument over this between the two men from which Mr. Ji learned the following: both men spent a great deal of effort and money to obtain books of magic. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov then passed many hours in the study of the contents of these books. This only added to the list of his accomplishments: not only could he do magic, but he could also read the old language! Mr. Ji did his best to emphasize the importance of both accomplishments to Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.

To his surprise, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov waved the speaking statues off as a mere trifle and boasted that, should the desire take him, he could make the whole minster get up and move around. Mr. Ji did not doubt the truthfulness of his claim.

The spell lost its effectiveness and, one by one, the statues grew silent. Still the three men continued to talk. Finally, remembering the lateness of the hour Mr. Ji apologized for keeping them here so long and offered to accompany them back to their lodgings.

It was evident to Mr. Ji that the effect of drink had yet to wear off completely and both men would fare better with a chaperone who kept all his wits about him.

Both men agreed to this and on their walk back Mr. Ji learned that they had rooms at an inn not far from where Mr. Ji himself stayed.

“We came to York on personal business,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki explained. “Yuuri learned from a friend that one of the booksellers here has a copy of a book by Belasis.”

Jacques Belasis was a sixteenth century magician, who lived at a time when acts of magic were becoming rarer with every passing year. His most famous work, _The Instructions_ , was believed to have been lost. To hear that a bookseller in York had a copy filled Mr. Ji, quite understandably, with a great deal of excitement.

Mr. Ji prepared to ask them if they succeeded in getting a copy of the book when Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov lost consciousness. To his great luck, they were a few steps away from the inn and his husband succeeded in catching him before he could hit the ground. Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki had no objections to carrying him the rest of the way.

“Please forgive my husband for his sorry state,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki said. “We will both be very glad to receive you tomorrow.”

They bade each other farewell. Despite the fact that he was supporting his husband’s weight with both hands, Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki bowed respectfully and left.

Mr. Ji returned to his lodgings and found himself unable to sleep for a single minute. He examined the events of the day from this angle and that, struggling to believe that they had really happened and had not been merely a product of his imagination. Was it possible that on the same day he had posed his question to the society of magicians fate herself contrived to find a way to give him an answer? Such a coincidence was truly remarkable!

As soon as the sun rose he got out of bed and made his inquiries about the two men not so much out of curiosity, but because he needed some proof that everything he had been witness to the night before had really happened and had not been a mad dream or hallucination.

Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki and Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov were indeed staying at a nearby inn. They had arrived the previous morning from a small town north of York. Try as he might, the innkeeper could not remember its name, but he was certain that it was in Yorkshire and not in Scotland. That was the end of his information about the two.

Mr. Ji thanked him for these answers and consulted his pocket watch. Was it too early to pay them a visit? Knowing he would be unable to do or think of anything else until he saw them again, he sent a servant to enquire if either of the men was willing to receive him.

The servant girl returned several minutes later, saying that Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was awake and willing to receive visitors.

Mr. Ji followed her up the staircase.

The inn was old and the staircase that led to the upper floors turned in such sharp and unexpected ways that it seemed to fold in on itself. It was poorly lit and full of corners that were in complete darkness. Mr. Ji stumbled several times along the way. By the end he couldn’t shake the feeling that instead of ascending he had actually descended into some unknown place.

The servant girl opened the door that led to a small sitting room where Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov stood by the window.

“Guang Hong Ji, sir,” she announced with a curtsey.

He turned at the sound of her voice and thanked her.

Mr. Ji stepped inside the room and the servant girl closed the door behind him.

“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov greeted him and motioned for him to take the chair opposite. “Honoured as I am by your visit, I find myself at a loss to find a reason for it.”

Of all the words Mr. Ji had expected to hear upon the renewal of their acquaintance these were the very last. He sank into the chair offered to him, feeling his heart sink even deeper.

“I do not believe we ever had the pleasure of meeting each other,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov went on, “and so I could not imagine what business you could have with me. Are you one of my husband’s friends? Or do you have some business to conduct with him?”

“Sir…” Mr. Ji began, but was at a loss as to how to continue.

Had they not met the night before? Was this not the magician who had so astounded him with his abilities? His features were all just as Mr. Ji had remembered them and, yet, the man regarded him as one does a person they are meeting for the first time.

Finding him so confused, Mr. Ji wondered if the events of the night before had been a dream after all. Perhaps, he reasoned with himself, he had spotted the man and his husband in the street before returning to his rooms and his imagination had made use of real people to create a dream that showed him his deepest desires?

He opened his mouth to say that a mistake had been made and that the man need not trouble himself when a door opened and Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki entered the room.

In the light of day the man’s features were even more striking. He was well-dressed and had his long hair coquettishly arranged on his head in a way that complimented his face. When he crossed the room he walked with all the grace of a prince. His first look was for his husband who he greeted with all the joy of an adoring spouse. His second was for their visitor.

“Good morning, Mr. Ji!” he exclaimed and shook the man by the hand like one does when meeting an old friend. “I am so very glad to see you here! Now that we have time to speak properly, I wish to hear more about you. Have you travelled far? Or have you always lived in York? What do you know about magic?”

So many questions poured out of him all at once that Mr. Ji was quite at a loss as to how to answer them all.

“Oh, forgive me,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki apologized. “I fear I let my enthusiasm get the better of me.”

“Then you know each other?” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov asked, looking from his husband to Mr. Ji.

“My love,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki said, taking his husband by the hand, “you know him too. We both met him last night. If you would cast your mind back, I am certain it will come to you. Of course, it was very dark and I dare say that after meeting someone in darkness recognizing them in broad daylight becomes rather difficult, almost impossible.” He gave his husband a look, but as he was facing away from Mr. Ji, the man did not catch it or its meaning.

“Yes, of course, that must be it,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov agreed. “I hope you will pardon the sudden lapse in my memory, Mr. Ji.”

They were both so kind and welcoming to him afterwards that Mr. Ji thought no more of it, puzzling as it was. The men spoke of the book that had brought them to York and were more than happy to show it to their visitor.

Normally the mere idea of laying his eyes on a book of magic was enough to excite Mr. Ji, but this time, finding himself in the presence of who he thought was England’s sole magician, he set the book aside to bestow all his attentions upon the man before him.

They spent a pleasant morning together during the course of which Mr. Ji had ample time to ask many questions. To his surprise, he got a straightforward answer to all of them. He had read many accounts of magicians being secretive and guarding all their knowledge with a great degree of jealousy. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, on the other hand, spoke plainly.

The facts Mr. Ji learned were the following. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov had not been studying magic for long. He had started a little before his marriage to Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki. At the time he had searched for a suitable profession and chance itself had caused him to stumble upon a book of magic in his father’s study. Now Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov performed all his magic for the benefit and amusement of his husband.

Mr. Ji stared in amazement at the man who was in complete command of England’s sole magician. Was the man aware of all the power at his disposal? What would befall those who had the misfortune of becoming his enemy? The world was filled with many desperate people who would go to great lengths to obtain such power and here was a very elegant and very beautiful man who could doom whole countries with a single frown.

As the conversation went on Mr. Ji noted how devoted both men were to each other and he gained enough of an understanding of Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki’s character to realize that he was not the kind of person who would abuse the power he commanded.

“This is all so very remarkable!” Mr. Ji exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. “You will permit me, I hope, to write about it in the papers?”

Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov coloured and mumbled something about it being a mere trifle and not worth writing about, much to the credit of his modesty.

Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki, on the other hand, was delighted by the idea. “Yes, of course!” he agreed. “You must write about Yuuri! Everyone must know about his accomplishments!” He turned to look at his husband. “You will forgive me, I hope, but I have no wish to continue being selfish like this. I know my duty as the magician’s husband is to share you with the world.”

Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov looked downcast at this. Something weighed heavily on his mind, but the next minute he was doing his best to smile and agree. He was sure, he said, that Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki was right.

Pleased with this and eager to start at once, Mr. Ji took his leave of the men, wishing them a pleasant day and promising to call on them at a later time.

 

“Well, dear heart, are you satisfied now?” Yuuri asked. “I know how often you wished you could write about me yourself and here we are.”

“I only wish for you to get the recognition you deserve, dear Yuuri,” Victor said. Now that there was no one to see them, he planted a gentle kiss on his husband’s cheek.

“The only recognition I wish to receive,” Yuuri said, “is yours. I have little use for any other kind.”

Victor was very flattered by this admission and said as much, but he had a very romantic nature and would not part with the hopes of seeing his husband do some great service for the government and getting knighted for it.

Victor was not the kind of person who desired the elevation of rank merely to make others feel inferior. No, he had a fanciful nature and, to his mind, nothing could be better than to be married to Sir Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov. There was, as well, not doubt in his mind that his husband was worthy of the honour.

“Did we really meet Mr. Ji last night?” Yuuri asked, as if he had some difficulty believing the fact.

“Oh, yes.” Victor regarded his husband with interest, curious to see how he would bear these words.

“I have not the smallest recollection of our meeting,” Yuuri admitted. “Whatever must he think of me?”

“I do believe, my love, that he was a great deal impressed. He spoke in tones of awe of the magic you had done. He was especially impressed with your boast that you could make the entire minster get up and walk about as if it were a great beast.”

“My goodness!” Yuuri exclaimed, holding his hands up to his face.

It must be admitted that for all his excellent qualities, Yuuri had one very unfortunate flaw in his character: whenever he had the misfortune to drink more than it was wise, his memory became very fickle and refused to supply him with the details of his activities during that period.

He blushed now as his husband recounted all the details of the previous night.

“No more!” Yuuri pleaded once his husband finished the tale of the moving kings.

 

Mr. Ji called upon them that evening to further his acquaintance with England’s only magician.

After an hour or so of conversation, during the course of which Mr. Ji caught more than one embarrassed glance thrown by the magician in his direction, he said, “What you must do, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, is go to London. Think of the use His Majesty’s government could have for a magician!”

There was no argument either of the men could make against that and, so, Mr. Ji made them both promise to make haste to the capital.

Mr. Ji spoke of going to London with such urgency as if he believed that a great catastrophe might befall His Majesty’s kingdom if the magician did not go there at once and both men accepted this as an undeniable fact without stopping to question it.

 

A move to London is no simple affair. First one must find and purchase a house. Next, one is required to find some furnishings for it, at the very least enough to settle there comfortably for the first little while.

Both the magician and his husband were well aware of this. Victor made inquiries among his friends before settling on a part of London he thought was best suited to satisfy his taste. He wrote to every person in that part of the city who had some property they were selling.

After several months of such correspondence, Victor was able to make his choice at last.

“Listen to this, my love,” he said one morning over breakfast. He held the letter before him and read it aloud.

Yuuri looked up from his copy of _The Instructions_ , his finger marking the spot where he had stopped reading. A fond smile appeared on his face as he listened to details of a house with spacious rooms and windows that let in a lot of light.

“What will you say to that?” Victor asked once he finished. He set the letter down on the table and gave his husband a charming smile. “Is it suitable for a magician?”

“Dear heart,” Yuuri began, placing a hand over that of his husband and forgetting that it was the very same hand which he had used to mark his spot, “I fully trust your choice in the matter. As for me – a place where I can continue my studies of magic as well as one where we can be together is enough for me.”

Victor coloured at this show of affection. “We will take it, then?” he asked, as if the matter was still not settled.

Yuuri gave a slight nod of his head. He closed his book and slid it aside, keeping his eyes fixed on Victor’s.

Victor looked away. “Do not stare at me so, Yuuri,” he pleaded softly, “or I shall be unable to keep my countenance. You know I am no good at controlling my emotions!”

Yuuri pressed a kiss to Victor’s hand and rose from his seat. “I will retire to the library for a while,” he said. “Give me an hour or so and after that I hope I can count on your company for a walk through the grounds.”

“I will look forward to it,” Victor promised in a whisper and watched his husband leave the room. He stared at the door for a while, as if unable to move. At last he shook off his stupor and rang for the maid. He left her to clear the table as he retired to his study to compose a suitable response.

A month later England’s only practical magician and his husband moved into a house in Hannover Square.


	2. Yuri Plisetsky

I do not know about you, dear reader, but I am not one who understands the pleasures of city life. There are more acquaintances to be made and more shops to visit, but one soon tires of all of these delights and begins to long for the peace and freedom of the country. For Yuuri and Victor to be forced to live in a narrow house with small windows and neighbours a mere wall away was very shocking indeed. Gone was the freedom of rolling hills and the pleasures of a private garden hidden by trees and fences from prying eyes.

Upon his arrival, Victor gave their London house a critical study, made note of all its faults and resolved to remove or hide every single one of them. He had already ordered clothes to be made according to the latest fashions and determined that the house would also be furnished in the most fashionable way possible.

Mr. Ji’s article in the paper was treated as a fanciful story and nothing more and, despite Yuuri’s greatest fears, both men found to their great astonishment that in their first week in London not a single soul came to pay a visit to either of them.

The evening of their second day in London came to a close and both men sat in their sitting room as a fire burned in the grate.

“The world has little interest in magic,” Yuuri concluded after a long silence. The fire in the grate cast odd shadows around the room and over his face.

Victor sat at his husband’s side, his arms locked around Yuuri in an embrace. “There must be some mistake,” he insisted. “Mr. Ji assured me that magic is of great interest to everyone in the kingdom.”

“Perhaps he said this to flatter me,” Yuuri ventured.

Victor made a sound that gave away his impatience. “Yuuri, that is quite impossible! How can anyone not care for magic? I did read the account Mr. Ji gave of the feat you had performed and I believe I know where the difficulty lies. He wrote in the style of a novelist, leading the reader to believe that it is nothing more than a story for their amusement.”

For a while Yuuri was silent and then, at last, he said, “We must ask someone to write an account people would believe.”

“What you need to do, my love,” Victor said, giving Yuuri’s face a gentle caress with his finger, “is more magic.”

This suggestion made Yuuri smile and reflect that Victor would have suggested it regardless of their situation.

Victor had a great love for magic and especially magic, which was performed by his husband. During the weeks of their courtship – at a time when it was difficult to say with any certainty who was courting who – Yuuri would often tell Victor, then Mr. Nikiforov, all that he knew about magic and its history. Victor would listen patiently and wait for Yuuri to finish before asking him to do the magic he had talked about.

Afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Nikiforov witnessed Victor return in a state of confusion and they worried that Yuuri had bewitched their son, but whenever they spoke to Yuuri afterwards all of their fears would be put to rest, for how could anyone suspect Mr. Yuuri Katsuki of bewitching anyone? More than that, the meekness of his nature made it almost impossible for them to believe that he was a magician at all. He was nothing like the magicians described in books and historical accounts.

Victor reminded Yuuri of the magic he had done in that time and the magician felt the blood rise to his cheeks at the memory.

“How unfortunate that England’s only magician must be so modest!” Victor exclaimed.

Yuuri stammered out something incomprehensible in his defence. “What would you do, if you were a magician?” he asked at last.

Victor hummed as he considered his answer. “Something grand, I should think. Something that would surprise everyone.” He rubbed Yuuri’s hand affectionately with his own. “And something that will show the great love I have for you.”

This amused Yuuri greatly. “Then, perhaps, you can guide me, dear heart.”

There was a long contemplative silence after those words. Finally Victor said, “Perhaps, if you spoke to one of the ministers of the government, they would give you something to do that would show them how useful it is to have a magician.”

Yuuri could think of no argument against this suggestion.

 

The following day Yuuri paid visits to several ministers, but, to his great embarrassment, he was not admitted to see a single one. They were all unable to receive him, giving any number of different excuses, and nothing could be done to change their minds.

When Yuuri told Victor about his limited success, his husband insisted that he could not despair. Convinced that there must be among them at the very least one man willing to see him, he persuaded Yuuri to take a different approach and pay visits to the ministers’ relations.

That was how one bleak morning Yuuri found himself visiting Lady Plisetskaya.

Lady Alexandra Plisetskaya was a very respectable woman with a large fortune and only one child. Her son, Yuri Plisetsky, was engaged to be married to Sir Otabek Altin, one of the youngest ministers of His Majesty’s government.

This time Yuuri arrived with a little scheme in mind. He hoped to win Lady Plisetskaya over and, through her, Sir Otabek as well.

To his great misfortune, he arrived to find that the lady was at that moment with Sir Otabek Altin himself. Out of curiosity, or, perhaps, due to a different feeling, she was willing to receive him.

Yuuri entered with a fluttering heart. He had spent so long chasing ministers that when he found himself face to face with one at last he forgot everything he had meant to say and bowed without a word.

“Good evening, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” the woman said, giving him a stern look as her lower lip curled in disdain. “I admit that your name is new to me and I cannot imagine what business brings you here.”

“Madam,” Yuuri bowed a second time. Then, spotting the minister standing by the windows of the room, he bowed a third time.

Sir Otabek bowed coldly in response.

“I lived in Yorkshire for many years,” Yuuri began, “where happy chance led me to the discovery of an old book of magic, one of the few that survived. I will not bore either of you with the details of the book, suffice it to say that I found that I could understand its contents and have been working ever since my discovery on the restoration of English magic.” He paused, as if expecting one or the other of his listeners to interrupt, but when neither of them said a word Yuuri continued, “the study takes a lot of time and work and…” here he paused, remembering all the discussion about honour and glory that he had held with Victor in the past, “…I believe the time has come to start putting my knowledge to use.”

“What do you expect to get from me?” Lady Plisetskaya demanded in a tone that suggested that whatever the request may be, there is a very small chance that it would be granted.

“I was hoping I could do something for you, madam,” Yuuri admitted and threw a quick glance at Sir Otabek.

“It is true that magic was once common in this country,” Sir Otabek began before Lady Plisetskaya could express all the indignation she felt at such an impertinent suggestion, “but it was all lost. Now, the public must make do with ordinary means to resolve their problems and anyone who wishes to consult a magician is free to speak with the yellow curtain magicians one can find on the street.”

Poor Yuuri! For someone who wanted more than anything to restore the glory and magic to hear about yellow curtain magicians as if they were no worse than real, practical magicians was a heavy blow indeed!

You and I have seen, or I dare say: passed, the yellow curtain magicians many times out in the streets. I know not how many people believe in the powers of these magicians, but not a week goes by in London without exposing another of them as a fraud. They all have one way or another to pull the unsuspecting public in and trick them into parting with their money or valuables.

Yuuri worked hard to collect himself, but before he could speak the lady exclaimed indignantly that if she had known her visitor’s business she would never have admitted him to her presence.

Yuuri found himself wishing Victor was there. Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki knew how to deal with circumstances such as these, but Yuuri could only stand silently and wish he had never come.

“I would be very glad to see magic done,” another voice spoke up and Yuuri noticed to his great surprise that there was a third person in the room. The speaker lay on a sofa that was all in shadow, making Yuuri think it was empty. The speaker stirred into a sitting position, but before they could say anything more, they broke out into loud painful coughs.

Yuuri watched with mounting alarm as both Lady Plisetskaya and Sir Otabek carried on as if nothing was wrong.

As soon as this new person finished coughing Sir Otabek gave a little cough, as if to show that there was nothing wrong with coughing and that everyone did it from time to time.

Lady Plisetskaya turned in the direction of the speaker with a smile, “What did you say, my dear?”

Yuuri discovered to his surprise that the new speaker was none other than Mr. Yuri Plisetsky.

Lady Plisetskaya considered her son perfection itself and because perfection could not have any flaws, refused to acknowledge her son’s illness. She forced Sir Otabek to follow her example and, unable to contradict the wishes of a woman whose son he hoped to marry soon, he obeyed.

“I said,” Mr. Plisetsky tried a second time with a note of frustration in his voice, “that I am very curious to see magic done.” He moved into the pale light of the room and Yuuri saw how frail and sickly he looked.

“Forgive me, my dear, but that is entirely out of the question!” his mother exclaimed and it amazed Yuuri to hear how her tone changed from a gentle, loving one to stern and angry one in the space of a few words.

After this declaration she made it very clear that there could be no more said on the subject.

“Mr. Katsuki has urgent business elsewhere,” she told her son while her eyes dug into Yuuri’s.

He bowed. “Thank you for your time, madam.” He then bowed to Sir Otabek and ran out of the room.

Yuuri’s face burned from embarrassment and humiliation, but his thoughts were of Mr. Plisetsky – the boy looked no older than sixteen and the distressing state of his health made Yuuri ask himself why his mother did not send for a doctor at once.

When he returned home Victor met him with a smile and announced that his search for suitable furniture for their house was complete. “I found the most delightful curtains imaginable, my love! Once everything arrives and we have it all as I would like I am sure you will agree that I had incredible luck in finding just what we need!”

Yuuri did his best to share in his husband’s joy, but his face gave away the turmoil in his heart.

“Is something wrong, my love?” Victor asked, sitting his husband down and lowering himself to his knees before him.

Yuuri recounted his visit, remembering every detail and marvelling at the sorry state of Mr. Plisetsky’s health.

“I heard about them, my love,” Victor told Yuuri once he had finished. Victor took his husband’s hands with both of his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Sir Otabek has a lot of ambition, but not the fortune required to see it satisfied. I was told that Mr. Plisetsky is very rich, but that, despite this, the match was not made because of money. People say that Sir Otabek’s interest lies in money,” Victor explained, “but others admit that Sir Otabek has an honourable nature. He had met Mr. Plisetsky at a time when his health allowed him to go out into the society and won his heart at a ball.”

They both smiled at this, thinking back to their own first meeting.

“With his excellent breeding,” Victor continued his tale, “Mr. Plisetsky’s mother gave her blessing for the match.”

“But his health?” he asked.

“Yes, that is an odd matter indeed,” Victor agreed, “and, try as I might, I cannot think of a single explanation for it. If you, my love, were unfortunate enough to fall terribly ill, I would do everything in my power to cure you. I would consult every doctor in the kingdom until you felt better,” Victor assured his husband.

A sad smile appeared on Yuuri’s face. “As would I.”

“I have no doubt that your magic would be enough to cure me,” Victor declared with his usual faith in his husband’s abilities.

Yuuri blushed at this declaration. “I would never use my magic on you,” he promised with all his seriousness, “not unless your need was great and I was very certain I would help you.”

Victor sat down at Yuuri’s side. “But you already _have_ , Yuuri! You have bewitched me, body and soul!” There was a teasing smile on his lips to show that the words were said in jest, but they made Yuuri turn pale.

“You cannot believe that,” he whispered. “I would never… I…”

Victor gave his hands a gentle squeeze and pressed his lips against those of his husband. “I was merely teasing,” he admitted after a lengthy kiss. “Please do not be angry with me.”

For a while Yuuri contemplated their entwined fingers in silence. When he did speak at last it was in the slow and thoughtful tones of someone weighing every word they were about to say. “I have, at times, used magic without the intention to do so. I would wish for something and see it granted, but not in the manner I had intended. It would turn against me in some way as if to punish me. I soon learned to be careful with my wishes, or to wish for nothing at all.”

“You never told me this before,” Victor remarked softly.

The colour rose to Yuuri’s cheeks a second time. “I was embarrassed to admit it,” he confessed. “I thought you would think ill of me and would break off our engagement altogether.” He hung his head. “I love you too dearly to ever let you go,” he admitted in a tone of voice that was barely audible even to Victor.

This confession earned him another kiss.

“You have bewitched me,” Victor repeated, “in that way that only lovers can.” He rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and looked up into his face. “My thoughts are always of you.” He traced out the line of Yuuri’s nose with his finger. “They have been from the moment we met.”

The magician frowned and shifted uncomfortably at those words.

“Are you thinking this is some spell of yours?” Victor asked. Then, feeling bolder, he took his husband’s hand and placed it over his own heart. “Has this heart ever lied to you?”

Still Yuuri looked troubled.

“Or, perhaps,” Victor went on, hurt by his husband’s continuing silence, “you think that something terrible will come of our marriage?” He sat up and turned away from his husband, wondering if it was best to leave the room at once, or to remain.

The shadows in the room shifted, an animal cried out in the street and Victor saw a black bird fly by just outside their window. The bells of a nearby church began to toll the hour, each sound echoing mournfully around the room like a funeral bell.

“Forgive me,” Yuuri whispered as soon as the bell stopped ringing. “I had no wish to offend you. Our marriage is the happiest event of my life and I am grateful for every day we have together.”

Victor turned around to meet his husband’s eye. “I wish to see magic done,” he whispered.

The room was full of magic. Yuuri felt it glimmering and calling out to him. It was somewhere beyond his vision and hearing, but still it reached him. He raised his eyes and saw the mirror on the opposite wall. It reflected the room, but as the shadows grew, so did the dark places in the mirror. He watched the reflection of the back of Victor’s head, saw his husband’s long locks reflected there and remembered a passage he had translated that morning.

_Mirrors are not windows, but gateways to other worlds._

A shiver ran up his spine and for a moment he became convinced that the reflection had changed in some way.

Victor gave Yuuri a curious look and turned his head, wondering what had distressed him so.

The reflection remained unchanged.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, clasping his hands together and running to examine the mirror. “Did you do this? This is incredible!”

Yuuri rose to his feet and went to study the mirror as well.

The mirror continued to show the two of them as they had been a few minutes ago – seated together and with Victor’s back to the mirror.

“Here is magic that would be of great use to many!” Victor exclaimed. He touched the back of his head with the tips of his fingers. “Is that a good likeness of my hair from the back?” he asked.

The magician nodded absently. He knew he was the one who had done the magic, but he had no way of knowing what it was he had done.

“Can you change it back?” Victor asked.

Many of Yuuri’s spells were irreversible, or, rather, in many cases Yuuri had never succeeded in undoing what he had done.

He stared at the mirror and felt something in the air snap. The reflection shifted until it showed them as they were in that instant.

Victor took Yuuri’s hands with both of his own. “I love you, Yuuri,” he said.

Yuuri coloured, but said nothing. He stepped up to the mirror and slid his fingers over its surface. For a moment he doubted if it was as hard and as impenetrable as ever, but then the world around him reasserted itself and he felt the shadows move into the places they had occupied before.

“You must be hungry,” Victor said. “I will call the maid and order dinner.” He released Yuuri and made for the door.

The world grew cold and shrank away.

Yuuri turned his head and watched Victor make arrangements for dinner. His eyes swept over Victor’s figure – tall and elegant in his fashionable clothing, his hair arranged artfully on his head with ribbons and pins keeping it in place.

The man returned to Yuuri’s side with a smile on his lips which changed to an expression of puzzlement as soon as their eyes met. “Did something happen just now?” he asked and looked around himself as though he was searching for signs of more magic.

Yuuri put an arm around him and pulled him close. “I love you dearly,” he said.

 

The following evening Yuuri and Victor attended a soiree. A cousin of one of Victor’s friends in Yorkshire invited them both, not having heard anything about any magic and knowing only of Victor’s reputation in Yorkshire.

Even now – or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say _especially_ now – Victor was known throughout Yorkshire for his beauty, for the fairness of his hair, the smartness of his dress and the charming air with which he carried himself.

For many years his parents had entertained great hopes of marrying their son off to a Duke or Earl with a large estate and many thousands of pounds a year all while Victor, full of all the romantic notions one can get from books, had searched for his true love. When he found Yuuri at last, his parents had to settle for England’s only practical magician and a thousand pounds a year.

Victor arrived at the soiree, dressed as smartly as ever. He had also made sure that Yuuri was equally well-dressed and when they stopped before the mirrors in the entrance hall Victor adjusted Yuuri’s necktie, giving it a critical look.

“There we are,” Victor said and raised his eyes in time to catch the troubled glance Yuuri gave his reflection.

“Perhaps you should do some magic for the guests?” Victor ventured carefully.

But before Yuuri could answer more guests arrived behind them and interrupted their brief time alone.

The soiree gave a little shock to both Yuuri and Victor who were accustomed to soirees and balls out in the country where the guests were few and for the most part closely acquainted with one another. This was a very different sort of soiree and, yet, not that different from any of the fashionable ones in London.

The rooms were all full of guests; the air was thick with scents, making it difficult to draw breath. There was no dancing, for not enough space could be spared for dancers to move about freely. If one of the guests were to spy one of their friends on the other side of the room, the push of people on all sides made it impossible to cross the room and the guest would have to contend themselves with a mere wave of the head or a nod in greeting.

Victor, determined to be polite, no matter the difficulties, sought out the host all while holding on to Yuuri to avoid losing him in the crowd.

“Ah, my dear Victor!” the friend exclaimed and then smiled warmly at Yuuri.

“This is my husband, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Victor introduced him.

Yuuri bowed.

“And this is Miss Sara Crispino,” Victor told Yuuri.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said with a curtsey. “When did you arrive in London?” she asked, turning her attention back on Victor.

“Three weeks ago,” Victor answered.

“You have come at a bad time,” Miss Crispino told him. “The weather is dreadful. The country must be very pleasant in the summer, but London is absolutely unbearable.”

Victor assured her that, on the contrary, London was very pleasant and that he and Yuuri were enjoying themselves immensely.

They went on this way for a long while. Yuuri contented himself with listening, only speaking when Victor asked for his opinion.

Victor charmed Miss Crispino so much that she invited them both to come to all her soirees in the future.

“You must meet my brother,” she told him. “I will find him and bring him to meet you.” She disappeared into the thick crowd, leaving them with this promise.

Both men remained where they were as the crowd moved around them like a river moves around big stones.

Victor’s eyes sank into Yuuri’s and not a single word passed their lips. They spoke solely with their eyes. Many words hung in the air between them. They were the sort of words that pass between two people who were married and in love. This was a kind of magic too, but not at all like the kind Yuuri studied.

Someone knocked into Yuuri and apologized, but their conversation was cut off and there was no making up for it now.

It occurred to both of them then that, perhaps, it was best to leave and continue their conversation at home, but Miss Crispino had asked them to wait, making departure quite impossible.

The man who had stumbled into Yuuri addressed him. He talked about the soiree and how pleasant it was with the air of someone prepared to speak for the rest of the night no matter what the topic of the conversation may be.

Yuuri nodded absently and met Victor’s eye, sending him a silent plea for help with his eyes.

“I hope you will forgive my impertinence,” Victor spoke up as soon as the speaker stopped to draw breath, “but may I ask who I have the honour of addressing?”

The man coloured and gave them a guilty look. “Yes, of course. How could I forget? My name is Minami Kenjiro and I know your names already – Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov.” He looked from one man to the other as he said their names. “One of my friends pointed the two of you out to me and I wanted to meet England’s only practical magician.” There was so much enthusiasm in his face that it made any observer wonder how he was keeping his face from splitting apart.

Victor put on his most polite expression and said, “Until we find another one, of course.”

“Of course,” Mr. Kenjiro echoed.

Yuuri had a faintly troubled air. He shifted uncomfortably and threw a glance at the door. Victor recognized the signs and opened his mouth, his excuse ready.

“It is just as I tell you!” someone behind them exclaimed.

All three men turned at the sound of that voice.

Two men stood right behind them, speaking to each other in excited tones, carrying on as if they did not notice all the heads in the room turning to look in their direction. They were both strangers to Yuuri and Victor, and as for their new acquaintance, who could say?

One of the men had a haughty expression on his face. His pose, something about the way he carried himself, showed how much disdain he felt about everyone around him. _I am doing you all a great honour by being here,_ his manner said.

His companion, by contrast, was always trying to please. He reached out and slid his hand over his companion’s arm, as if begging for his attention. He was gaudily dressed and the chain from a pocket watch dangled from the pocket of his waistcoat. He was the one who had spoken loudly, despite affecting to speak in a whisper, and even though he acted as if he did not notice all the attention the others were giving him, it was clear that he took great pleasure in it.

He was the one who dropped the next words, knowing very well the shock they would bring with them. “Yes, my dear friend, I am sorry to say, but it is true – Yuri Plisetsky died but two hours ago.”


	3. The Price for a Life

At the announcement of Mr. Plisetsky’s death Yuuri paled and swayed on his feet. Then a feeling of guilt rose in his chest, as though it had been his fault that the young man had died.

“The wedding was to be held on Wednesday,” the speaker went on, as if the excited murmurs of the people around him did not reach his ears. “If only he had stayed alive for two more days, Sir Otabek would have been a very wealthy man indeed! Ten thousand a year!”

Yuuri eyes met Victor’s. “I cannot stay here any longer,” he whispered and, despite the noise around them, Victor understood.

 

The return journey to their house passed in silence. The carriage took them through dark streets that looked strange and uninviting, as though they were the streets of a far-off land where visitors were not welcome.

Yuuri wrung his hands and did many other little things that gave away his state of great distress.

Victor watched him in silence.

A heavy sigh escaped Yuuri’s lips and he spoke at last, “I cannot do it! I cannot! Do not ask it of me!”

“Ask what?”

Yuuri covered his face with his hands and shook. “I cannot bring Yuri back to life! It cannot be done!” he protested, as if there had been an argument.

“Then you are under no obligation to do it,” Victor told him soothingly.

There were tears in Yuuri’s eyes as he raised his head from his hands. “But to die so young!”

Victor gathered him close to his chest. Yuuri was soft-hearted, unaware of the perils of the world, of the treachery of men and women, and of the many traps that awaited him at every corner. Victor had often called himself Yuuri’s protector for just this reason.

Yuuri’s body shuddered with sobs.

Victor spoke in a calm and pacifying voice. He talked about the pleasures of the country and how they would soon return to them. He gave Yuuri many little assurances that everything would improve in the coming days. These assurances earned him a smile and an apology from Yuuri, but when they got out of the carriage Victor could see that the magician was still very distressed.

He was just considering the many ways with which he could put his husband at ease when a servant spoke up, “You have a visitor, Master Katsuki.”

The men exchanged a look of surprise.

“At this hour?” Victor asked. “Who can it possibly be?”

“Sir Otabek Altin,” the servant answered, holding out a tray with the visitor’s card on it.

Yuuri rushed ahead, tossing his hat off carelessly for someone to catch.

Victor made a frustrated sound and followed his husband with long strides, bracing himself for something terrible.

They found Sir Otabek in their drawing room. The man was pacing the room when Yuuri came in. His face was very pale and he stepped towards Yuuri like a man who was searching every available quarter for help.

“Please, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov!” he exclaimed and the light fell over his face. The minister’s face was wet, but he made no move to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

Victor’s heart went out to the man. After the way he had treated Yuuri he had been furious with the man, but seeing him in so much grief made Victor pity him.

“Is there any magic to bring someone back to life?” Sir Otabek asked. “Yuri passed away three hours ago. We did all we could, but the doctors all said it was too late to help him. Lady Plisetskaya is beside herself and I…” He broke off, unable to complete his sentence, but that was not necessary – his manner plainly showed how affected he was.

Victor comforted Sir Otabek. He summoned a servant and ordered a glass of water for his visitor.

Yuuri stepped away from them and stopped at a window. His back was turned to Victor and the man had no way of knowing what his husband was thinking. He thought back to the words he had said in the carriage and did not dare ask if something could be done after all.

Sir Otabek’s hands shook, making it impossible for him to drink. Victor held his glass for him as the man downed its contents and did his best to steady his nerves. Still his legs shook under him, unable to support his weight for much longer.

“Come, sit here,” Victor coaxed the man into a chair and contemplated his husband. “Yuuri?” he called out gently.

Yuuri turned away from the window. The moon shone behind him, casting his face into a deep shadow. “I will do it,” he promised.

Sir Otabek tried to rise to his feet, but Yuuri walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Rest for now,” Yuuri ordered. “There are some preparations I need to take care of before we go. Victor,” he looked into his husband’s face as he spoke the next words, “please take care of our guest.”

Victor longed more than anything to go with Yuuri, but he knew that his place was here. He watched his husband leave the room and called the servants in to bring more water for their visitor

The colour returned to Sir Otabek’s face and he regarded Victor with imploring eyes. “Be honest with me, sir. Your husband, is he a good magician? I would never have come, if Yuri’s mother had not insisted. She was determined we try everything before we accept what happened. Does your husband really know the old magic, the magic of the king?”

A wistful smile spread over Victor’s face. “Yes and there is no one in the kingdom who knows more about it than he does. If Yuuri tells you he will bring Mr. Plisetsky back to life, then you can depend upon it. He is a man of his word.”

Sir Otabek frowned as he considered what Victor had said. After a long pause he thanked him, but Victor suspected that the man remained unconvinced. Perhaps, it was not surprising, Victor told himself, after all – the man had never witnessed Yuuri do magic before.

Yuuri returned with a book under his arm. Victor saw him then as Sir Otabek must have seen him. The magician had a determined expression on his face, but there was still an air of doubt about him. Unlike the magicians of old, who dressed in long dark robes, Yuuri was in the fashionable clothes he had worn at the soiree. All these details combined to give an impression of a young man not used to the ways of the world.

As was usually the case, Victor promised himself to protect Yuuri. It must be admitted here that it was an odd promise, considering that he had about as much experience in the ways of the world as Yuuri did.

“I am ready now,” Yuuri announced and stood firm.

_No,_ Victor told himself, _there is no doubt now, only determination. How could I ever think otherwise?_

Sir Otabek rose to his feet and led the way out of the room.

Victor leaned on Yuuri’s arm. The magician’s determined air was making Victor’s legs tremble under him. For a moment he was convinced that he would faint, but he steadied himself with the thought that it would not do well to faint at a time like this.

Sir Otabek’s carriage took all three of them to Lady Plisetsky’s house. Neither of them said a word throughout the whole journey. Victor watched Yuuri, wondering if he would betray what he felt, but Yuuri said nothing.

When the carriage stopped Sir Otabek was quick to jump out and rush into the house.

Victor followed him at a slower speed and held out his hand to help Yuuri. For a moment Yuuri allowed his fear to appear in his eyes and then he entered the house, leaning on Victor’s arm.

“Good evening, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Lady Plisetskaya said, coming out of one of the drawing rooms to greet them. A great change had come over the woman since the last time Yuuri had seen her. After their first meeting Yuuri had an impression of her as a strong woman, but now she looked aged beyond her years. Yuuri did not recognize her at first and he nearly wept for the mother who had lost her only child.

She held herself with a great deal of dignity despite the tragedy which had struck her. “You wished to be of service to me,” she reminded him, “so I wish to have my son restored to me. Tell me honestly – can you do it? Do not lie, sir, or you will soon be found out!”

Yuuri nodded. “I believe I can.”

She gave him a long piercing look, which she then transferred to Victor who bowed and introduced himself.

“I will lead you to his room,” she declared, barely deigning to respond to Victor’s greeting.

Yuuri followed her up the stairs, past frightened servants who stared after the guests with undisguised surprise. Victor did his best to avoid meeting anyone’s eye. He could find no explanation for this unease and scolded himself again for not having enough faith in Yuuri’s abilities.

At the door to Mr. Plisetsky’s room Yuuri stopped and turned to face everyone. “I must go in alone,” he announced in a solemn tone of voice.

Victor, who had grown accustomed to being present for all of Yuuri’s acts of magic, was the first to express his astonishment. “Why?”

Yuuri looked away. “Because the magic I will attempt is dangerous. I confess, madam,” he said to Lady Plisetskaya, “that I have never attempted it before, therefore I am uncertain of its success.”

The woman paled. “The magic is dangerous for who?”

For some reason Yuuri was watching Victor as he answered her, “Anyone who will be close to me.”

“What about my son?” she demanded.

“Madam,” Sir Otabek spoke up, “I am of the belief that we should let Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov try his magic. Yu – that is Mr. Plisetsky is…” the words got caught in his throat and it took him a great deal of effort to get his emotions under enough control to complete his thought, “…and I cannot imagine what dangers could threaten him now.”

Yuuri opened his mouth, as if about to explain, but then he changed his mind and closed it again without uttering a word.

The mother contemplated Sir Otabek’s words for several minutes before granting her permission for Yuuri to enter alone.

The magician opened the door, threw a glance at Victor and stepped inside the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

Sir Otabek did his best to convince Lady Plisetskaya to sit down, but she refused to listen to him.

The bells of a nearby church began to toll then, each long sound lasting forever. The room grew cold. Victor’s heart beat fast in fear. Silence spread through the house, further increasing his unease.

Victor shivered and wished he could retrieve his coat. He imagined Yuuri alone with the corpse, terrified and saddened by this sight. He imagined the magician trying different spells none of which worked. He imagined he could feel Yuuri’s pain and despair as though they were his own.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he whispered, his fingers resting on the wedding band on his finger.

What would the magician do if none of his spells worked?

Victor grew anxious as his imagination painted all manner of horrors to taunt him with. He gathered all his courage, told himself to have faith in Yuuri’s abilities and still he trembled in fear of what Yuuri might do.

He stepped towards the room, unable to take the suspense any longer and the door opened as if on its own.

 

Yuuri locked the door behind him and uttered a spell for concealing all the sounds in the room from the ears of those outside it.

After meeting Mr. Plisetsky for the first time Yuuri had spent several hours studying different healing spells, but none of them could help a person who was dead. He knew there was no time to try different spells and, with the young man’s mother a few steps away, he dared not attempt any of the black magic he had read about.

Yuuri stepped up to the bed where Mr. Plisetsky lay. His eyes were closed and his hands were folded together. It was almost as if he was asleep after a long tiring day, but for the deathly pallor of his cheeks and the absence of that slight movement that one makes even when in the deepest sleep.

The magician stood over the dead body, not daring to draw breath himself.

The only light in the room was from the full moon outside. It peered into the window as if wishing to see for itself what the magician would do.

Yuuri passed his hand over his brow. “I must,” he whispered to the dead man. “I know it is dangerous and foolish, but I must.”

He thought of Sir Otabek’s grief and the change that had come over Lady Plisetskaya and gathered all his courage.

First Yuuri lit a candle, saying a short spell over the one he found by Mr. Plisetsky’s bed. Next, he opened his book and began to read from it. He had learned the language in which it had been written, the language which had been lost for three hundred years, but he pronounced the words like one who had only ever seen them written down.

What he uttered was an old spell of summoning, one that had many extra parts to it that helped the spell very little and that, in later years, Yuuri removed.

Once he finished speaking he blew the candle out and looked around the room in fear.

A person appeared before him, standing in the light falling from the window. The newcomer wore a green waistcoat, decorated with leaves. He appeared brighter than everything in the room, so that any observer who tried to look away would find their eye inevitably drawn to him. His most striking feature was his silver hair the colour of thistle-down. It made Yuuri think of Victor who was waiting for him but a few steps away.

The faerie spoke to Yuuri in a language the magician did not understand. This, presumably, was the language in which the books of magic were all written, but the faerie spoke too quickly for Yuuri to discern a single word he knew.

Yuuri began saying something in response, stumbled over his words and mumbled an apology in English.

The faerie spread his arms as a smile spread over his face. “You have summoned me because you heard of my gifts, of course, my reputation for the magic I have done made it all the way into England. Yes, yes, I know all of that!”

Yuuri, who was seeing the faerie for the first time in his life and who had not the slightest idea of who this faerie was, merely nodded. “I have summoned you here to ask for your help,” he added.

All the books Yuuri had managed to translate referred to faeries with words of caution. The books were full of stories of the misfortune that befell anyone who angered a faerie. Not having the human understanding of right and wrong, faeries acted based on how they were treated by others.

With this advice in mind, Yuuri paid the faerie several compliments. He could see, Yuuri told him, that the faerie was as handsome and as wise as his reputation had suggested.

The faerie listened to this as someone listens to words they had expected to hear. At last the faerie nodded in acceptance and asked, “Why did you summon me?”

Yuuri walked over to the bed. “This young man died a few hours ago. Can you bring him back to life?”

The faerie stepped over to the bed and his eyes lit up. He exclaimed in surprise in his language. Yuuri caught the word “beautiful” and threw a quick glance at the door. A feeling of unease made him tremble. He gathered all his courage and remarked to himself how right he had been to keep Victor away.

“And what will my reward be, if I do what you ask of me?” the faerie demanded while his eyes went on studying Mr. Plisetsky’s features.

“The young man is very rich,” Yuuri began, suspecting that this will not matter to the faerie, “and I am sure his mother will be glad to pay you for your services.”

“Money! Pah! What use do I have for gold, silver, or jewels? I have but to wish for it and the room will fill up with the most valuable treasures in the world!” the faerie boasted. The confidence in his tone did not leave any room for doubt of his words.

“Then, perhaps, fame –” Yuuri began.

“No,” this time the faerie dropped all politeness and interrupted in a brusque manner that showed all his disdain for the magician. “No, if I were to bring him back to life, then I want half of it to be mine.”

“Half a life?” Yuuri repeated in disbelief.

“Half a life,” the faerie repeated, “or no life at all.”

Yuuri stared down at the motionless figure on the bed. “How many years will you take?”

“How many would you like for him to live?” the faerie asked in return, reaching a hand out and brushing Mr. Plisetsky’s hair out of his face.

“He may have lived to seventy,” Yuuri supposed, forgetting for a moment how sickly Mr. Plisetsky had been in life.

“Seventy,” the faerie agreed generously. “He cannot be twenty yet, so this would give him more than another five and twenty years.”

There was some trick here, Yuuri was sure of it. The faerie was trying to trick him into giving away more than he said. But what choice did Yuuri have? Another five and twenty years was more than nothing and it gave him time to find out what the faerie would really do.

“Very well then,” Yuuri agreed. “Half of his life.”

“Excellent!” The faerie held out his hand in the air above Mr. Plisetsky’s face.

The magician bit his lip. _If there is a trick here, I will learn what it is and find a way to undo it without taking your life, Mr. Plisetsky, I promise._

“I must take something,” the faerie said, snatching his hand away, “something that will show my hold over the young man.”

Yuuri spotted a ring on the table on the other side of the room. “Perhaps this?” he offered. “I am certain I can find another ring, if this one does not please you.”

“No, that will not do,” the faerie said dryly. “Ah! I have it! I will take the smallest finger on his right hand!”

Before Yuuri could attempt to convince him to change his mind, the faerie spoke in his tongue once more.

A tremor passed through Mr. Plisetsky’s body and the colour returned to his cheeks.

“No one will know of our arrangement,” the faerie promised and Yuuri realized with a shock that the faerie stood behind him now. He felt hands resting on both of his shoulders as a voice whispered into his ear, “No one need ever know…”

The faerie’s hands released him and Yuuri turned to see that the faerie had vanished.

The sound of a gentle sigh drew Yuuri’s attention back to the bed where Mr. Plisetsky was waking up. The young man opened his eyes and stared at Yuuri. “Where am I?” he asked and then sat up as recognition dawned, pulling his blanket up to his chest.

Yuuri turned away and opened the door. He had forgotten all about the people waiting for him and had intended to run out, unable to remain in the room. But before he could go anywhere Sir Otabek ran past him, followed closely by Lady Plisetskaya.

They stopped before the bed as Mr. Plisetsky stared at them both. Unable to contain their joy, they threw their arms around him.

“What is this?” he demanded in a frustrated voice.

Yuuri watched them release him and explain what had happened, but the resurrected young man was staring down at his hands, too absorbed in what he was seeing to pay their words the slightest bit of attention.

Just as Victor put his arms around Yuuri everyone in the room grew silent and stared at the young man’s right hand, at the place where the place where the smallest finger ought to have been. The hand was smooth there, as though there had never been a finger there before.

Mr. Plisetsky held his hand up and studied it curiously in the moonlight, turning it this way and that.

Several people in the room turned to look at the magician, but guilt pushed him out of the room, making him free himself from Victor’s embrace and run out.

Victor caught up with him downstairs where he stopped by a window to peer out at the moonlit street. Victor followed his line of sight. The houses were dark silhouettes against a dark blue sky where the moon outshone all the stars. There was something terrifying about the shadows, as if they concealed a great danger that would strike any unsuspecting passer-by.

There was a pained look on Yuuri’s face. Perhaps something about the magic he had done had gone wrong, Victor thought, and that was the reason why Mr. Plisetsky was missing the smallest finger on his hand. Victor put his arms around Yuuri a second time and insisted that he need not worry.

“Mr. Plisetsky can wear a glove to cover his missing finger and I do not think he will mind this inconvenience in exchange for being brought back to life, I am certain,” Victor hastened to add.

Yuuri was silent. Victor considered different ways to put him at ease when Sir Otabek came down the stairs after them.

“Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, the service you have done for – what you have done for me – for us is…” He attempted a smile. “How can we ever repay you for this?”

“Please, I do not need anything,” Yuuri insisted, backing away. “You… I…” He threw an imploring look at his husband.

Victor stepped forward, ready to answer this appeal for help. “Yuuri shared in your grief and would have offered his services to you even if you had not come…” He trailed off, seeing Mr. Plisetsky walk down the stairs with his mother at his heels.

Lady Plisetskaya begged her son to return to his room. He was not strong enough to be up and about, she insisted.

“On the contrary, mother!” he exclaimed. “I have never felt so alive! I want to go out for a walk! I want to dance!” He caught Sir Otabek’s hands. “Dance with me!” he insisted.

Sir Otabek, unable to contradict his fiancé, attempted a kind of dance on the stairs.

Victor’s eye drifted over to Yuuri who watched Mr. Plisetsky and Sir Otabek with a pained look.

Then, as if suddenly remembering about the lateness of the hour, he excused himself and Victor and left.

Their carriage was waiting for them when they stepped out of the house and Yuuri held out his hand to help Victor climb inside before following him in himself.

Melancholy thoughts followed Yuuri even here and, try as he might, Victor would not coax the reason for them out of him.

Upon their return to their house Yuuri made straight for his study without another word.

Victor sat up half the night, waiting for him. He dozed off sometime around dawn and woke up late in the morning to find that someone had draped a blanket over him while he had slept.

He rose to his feet, opened the door leading to Yuuri’s study and discovered it to be empty. Victor cast a look over Yuuri’s table. It was strewn with papers covered in his writing and half a dozen books, some of which the magician had left open, as if he wished to return to the pages he had selected. Not for the first time Victor wished he could read the writing.

With a heavy sigh Victor left the room. Remembering that he was still in his clothes from the night before, he left to change.

 

After Mr. Plisetsky’s resurrection Sir Otabek, Mr. Plisetsky and Lady Plisetskaya were all anxious to discuss the details of Sir Otabek’s marriage to Mr. Plisetsky.

The wedding had been scheduled for a Wednesday in two days’ time and now they were considering if it was best to keep the date or change it.

“We should move the wedding to a different day,” Sir Otabek proposed.

“Why do you think that?” Mr. Plisetsky demanded and shot his fiancé a long glance, wondering if death had done away with Sir Otabek’s feelings for him.

“Because…” Sir Otabek struggled for words. “Well, it would seem proper to…” he stammered out.

“Nonsense!” Lady Plisetskaya exclaimed. “I agree with Yuri completely: all of the wedding preparations are already made, the dinner is cooked and, thus, nothing is preventing the two of you from getting married in two days’ time.”

Sir Otabek inclined his head in agreement with this and then cast a look at Mr. Plisetsky. “Do you share your mother’s opinion on this, Mr. Plisetsky?”

“Of course I do!” the young man exclaimed. “And how many times must I ask that you call me Yuri?”

“My dear, that is not proper,” his mother reprimanded him gently. “You are not married yet.”

“Why ever not? We are engaged to be married, mother!” After this indignant exclamation, Mr. Plisetsky rose and asked Sir Otabek to take a walk with him.

This request was so extraordinary that no one dared to contradict him.

 

It was generally agreed among many of society’s finest that Mr. Plisetsky got more attention than anyone could ever hope for in one lifetime. Such is the way of society that any person who may generally go unnoticed and undiscussed was sure to capture everyone’s attention if they were to die, or to marry. Yuri Plisetsky who died on a Sunday, was resurrected in those hours between Sunday and Monday and was married on the Wednesday was talked about by everyone everywhere.

Mr. Plisetsky’s health had kept him from going out into society and people had heard his name more times than they had seen him in person. Now he appeared with Sir Otabek at his side, full of joy and energy. He was so full of life that by comparison everyone around him looked sickly, almost lifeless. Mr. Plisetsky danced well and everyone pronounced him to be very beautiful and very intelligent. In short, it was soon decided that Sir Otabek was the luckiest man in the kingdom and Sir Otabek himself was convinced of it too.

 

The magician who had performed this miracle was now a welcome guest not only at Sir Otabek’s house and at Lady Plisetskaya’s house, but at every house in London. Everyone wished to know what magic he had done and where he had learned it.

Yuuri blushed and paled and protested that he had no wish to talk about it and that it was not the heroic deed everyone thought it was. Victor told everyone then that his husband was a noble man who could not stand by and watch a young man in the prime of his life die.

Society accepted both of them warmly. Yuuri was not at all like the magicians people imagined when they talked about the king who had ruled England three hundred years ago, but Yuuri’s kindness and lack of pride pleased many and those who found fault with Yuuri could say nothing against Victor.

Victor had a talent for charming everyone. A week did not go by before his beauty and accomplishments were known widely in all of London. It was rumoured that the princes in the royal family were all madly in love with him. He danced very well and only with his husband. His fair hair put everyone in mind of faeries and many people were convinced that the magician had won the heart of a faerie and that was the true source of his powers. The discovery that Victor had no aptitude for magic was treated as proof of this mad tale.

When these rumours reached Victor’s ears he had a long laugh over them, but when he recounted them to Yuuri as an amusing joke his husband paled and gave him an odd look.

 

A week after Mr. Plisetsky and Otabek’s wedding Yuuri was summoned before all the ministers.

On the Continent, the war with Napoleon raged on and the ministers were anxious to do everything in their power to end it. When Yuuri arrived – accompanied by Victor who feared leaving his husband alone – he found the ministers arguing over who the magician should resurrect next.

Yuuri paled as soon as the meaning of their argument reached him.

“No, no we are approaching the question the wrong way entirely,” one of the men cut in. “Think – who does Napoleon fear most? Lord Nelson, of course! That is who Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov should resurrect.”

“I do not understand,” another man spoke up, “why Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov cannot resurrect more than one person. If he requires payment, we will pay him for each person he restores to life. Good afternoon, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov and Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki.”

They bowed to each other respectfully. Victor noted how sickly the speaker looked and could not suppress the thought that, perhaps, that man would soon require Yuuri’s magic to restore him to full health.

Poor Yuuri! The knowledge of what he had done weighed heavily on his conscience, but to be asked to do it again and more than once too!

Victor, anticipating his husband’s response to this request, represented to the gathered ministers the difficulties of resurrecting everyone they had proposed. Those honourable men had passed away several years ago and their bodies were in a sorry state now, not fit for appearing before the public, he reminded them gently.

A brief silence followed those words and then Sir Otabek, who had not uttered a word until that moment said, “How do you propose to help us?”

Yuuri smiled. He had his answer ready before he had arrived. “I can place defences around English coasts. I can create illusions that will make the French think that they are under attack and I can conjure up visions to see what others are doing.”

From that day onward Yuuri became the magician of His Majesty’s government. Not a day went by without some word of his actions for the good of his country. At times he was summoned before the ministers and at times they went to his house in Hannover Square to seek his help.

Before long the ministers came to rely so much on Yuuri’s magic that they forgot completely that there had once been a time when they got by without it.

As word spread about more magic done by Yuuri Katsuki, yellow curtain magicians on London’s every street screamed that magic had returned to England at last and that the old king, the Raven King, would soon return to rule over his subjects.


	4. Half a Life

I do not think you can find a single person in England who has not heard of the Raven King. They will all be all too eager to tell you a story about the King. Their story may turn out to be confusing or contradictory at times, but such are all stories about the Raven King. Many stories have sprung up about him over time and scholars often have a difficult time discerning which are based on actual fact and which are mere fiction.

Despite all the centuries of scholars who had studied his life, not one among them can tell you who the King’s parents were or what his real name was. It is known, however, that he was born in Yorkshire. A faerie took a liking to him when he was still a little child, too young to even walk, and stole him away in the night.

A child in Faerie, or the Other Lands, as they are sometimes called, is not uncommon – over the years faeries had stolen many children from their homes. Some of them returned as adults after the faeries tired of them, but how many of them stayed behind, unable to leave!

The faeries gave him a name in their own tongue and he learned how to speak their language, forgetting what little English he knew. But, unlike the other children stolen by faeries, he returned to England with an army and conquered the north, leaving the English king to rule over the south.

He ruled for many years, at times doing magic the purpose of which no one could explain. Many were the magicians who were in his court – their names are still remembered to this day and they are referred to by scholars as the Aubergine magicians, or those who lived in the golden age of English magic. So little is known about the King that no one could say for certain if he had meant to leave, or if something unexpected had called him away. The people of Yorkshire tell many stories about the King returning and appearing before a peasant girl, or a farmer. As in many other countries, there are many legends that the King would return at England’s darkest hour.

There was a decline in magic after that. Many spells ceased to work, until not a single working spell remained. Faeries were rarely ever seen anymore as if they had lost their interest in England.

 

After his marriage to Sir Otabek, Yuri Plisetsky – now Lord Yuri – was expected to rise to great heights in society. People thought that with his gifts and connections, and, especially, his newfound energy and health, he would take his rightful place in society at last and become an influential figure in setting the fashions for every aspect of life. Mr. Plisetsky knew nothing of these expectations and would have been very surprised if someone had taken the trouble of telling him about them. He had no such ambitions and, what was more – no wish to lead society in any direction.

When Sir Otabek married Mr. Plisetsky the minister had only one servant – his butler Steven. The butler had served Sir Otabek for many years and remained his butler even after his marriage. The rest of the servants in their household were new ones that Lady Plisetskaya had helped them find. Steven was now elevated to a position of overseeing the other servants – a duty that took nearly every hour of his day.

On the night after Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri gave their first dinner Steven gathered all of them in the kitchen and addressed them thus, “I cannot account for your behaviour tonight. Is something the matter? You all came with excellent recommendations and, yet, I find you failing in your duties. Alfred,” he began, turning to face one of the servants, “your duty was to remain at the table and, yet, all evening long you kept going over to the window and peering out. How do you explain your actions?”

“Steven,” the servant said, trembling, “I know it sounds foolish, but the whole evening long I was certain that the trees outside his Lordship’s house grew tall and spread out their branches and scraped them against the glass of the windows.”

“Trees?” Steven repeated in disbelief. “You know perfectly well that there are no trees just outside his Lordship’s house!”

Still Alfred went on insisting that he had heard and even seen these trees.

With a heavy sigh Steven turned to a different servant. “And what of you, John? What do you have to say for yourself? Twice I heard Lord Yuri order you to refill his glass and yet you stared at him without moving a step. What do you say to that?”

 John paled and twisted his hands, throwing looks of despair around him. “I was frightened,” he admitted at last.

“Frightened of what?”

“Of the gentleman who stood behind Lord Yuri,” the man whispered.

Steven’s eyebrows rose at this admission. “What did this gentleman look like?”

“He wore a green waistcoat and had hair the colour of thistle-down,” John answered.

Steven’s expression grew even more surprised. “There was no one among the guests who matches that description,” he said. Then he recalled a detail of the room and he frowned at John. “There was a mirror behind Lord Yuri at the time,” he explained. “What you saw was a distorted reflection of the room. From where you stood it looked like a gentleman in a green waistcoat and with white hair.” Satisfied with this explanation, Steven turned to a different servant. “And you, Thomas, why did you refuse to enter the room? How could you neglect your duties in this way?”

“Steven,” Thomas began, his face a mask of fright, “when I entered the room to bring in the first course I heard the saddest music imaginable. I remembered my dear mother who suffered from a long illness. Five and ten years have passed since her death, but when I heard that music play I could imagine her as I had last seen her – lying in her bed, her face whiter than a sheet.”

“What music could this be?” Steven asked. “The musicians were not playing then. These are mere fantasies.” He looked about the room and several servants averted their eyes to avoid meeting his gaze. “I wish to hear no more of any of this. Tomorrow I expect much better from you.”

He dismissed all the servants and sat down to go through his masters’ expenses.

The sound of a bell ringing made him raise his head. Two days earlier a workman had come and set up the servants’ bells on the wall, just above Steven’s table. The lateness of the hour had made Steven think he could soon retire for the night, but here the call was – insisting on his presence. He raised his head, but several minutes passed before he could understand which room the call was coming from.

There were the bells for the bedrooms, the drawing room, the study, the sitting room. They had eight in total, or at least they had eight that morning. Steven remembered paying the workman for eight new bells and watching him check that each one was working, but a ninth bell rang now. A little plaque below it proclaimed it as the bell in Lost Hope, a place Steven had never heard of before.

Curiosity as well as duty pushed Steven out of his chair and in the direction of the call. He opened the door and ascended the staircase, but stopped at the landing. A new door stood there where there had been no door a mere hour ago.

Steven opened it to find a gentleman with thistle-down hair seated in a chair. He was half-dressed and the rest of his clothing was draped over another chair. His shoes lay on the floor under his clothes.

“I rang and rang, but no one came,” the gentleman complained. “How long must I wait for someone to answer my call?”

Steven apologized. He wanted to tell the man that he had not been informed of his presence and wished to ask for his name, but both struck him as disrespectful at a moment like this and he offered the stranger his services instead.

“I will meet Lord Yuri tonight,” the gentleman said, “but how can I possibly do that, looking like this?” He passed a hand over his left cheek and Steven noticed that the gentleman was unshaven.

He shaved the gentleman, cleaned his clothes with a brush and helped him into them.

“Pass me my box,” the gentleman ordered, nodding at the table, “I brought something I want Lord Yuri to wear.”

Steven picked up a small box from the table. It looked like a snuff box and could fit easily in the palm of his hand. When the light fell on it he could see that it was the colour of heartache.

The gentleman took the box and opened it to reveal a little finger.

This did not surprise Steven. At that moment he was convinced that all gentlemen gave little fingers to the partners of their choice, as if they were rings or necklaces. It did not even occur to him that Lord Yuri was married, or even that he was asleep and not about to go anywhere.

“Was it in your family long?” the servant asked, as if the finger was an heirloom of some sort.

“Not long,” the gentleman told him. “Not long at all.”

Steven nodded as if this, too, was perfectly reasonable and escorted the gentleman to one of the doors leading out of the room.

It opened into an old dead wood, but the gentleman stepped out with the air of someone stepping out into a corridor they passed through many times and closed the door behind him.

Steven turned around and left the room. The memory of the incident faded from his mind as soon as he reached the bottom of the staircase and he thought only about finishing his tasks and retiring to bed.

In an old dead wood that has seen much over the years was where the castle of Lost Hope lay. The ground was strewn with the bodies of soldiers who had once fought here. Their armour lay about them, gathering rust and dust. The earth groaned under them, tired of this heavy burden.

The castle of Lost Hope appeared between the dead branches and tree trunks. Once it had been taller than all the castles in England, but it had since fallen into disrepair. The walls had crumbled so that now it was but a skeleton of its former self.

Sad music played, filing the air with the lament that nothing was as it had once been. The music was convinced that all the days of joy and glory were in the past. Even the sky here was full of sorrow and despair. It was devoid of stars and the moon, all the while there were no clouds.

In the main hall of the castle dancers spun around in circles.

The doors opened and the dancers stopped to see who was joining them now. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair stepped inside, leading Lord Yuri by the hand.

Lord Yuri was in expensive clothes as befitted a grand ball. There were jewels in his hair and an amazed expression on his face. His eyes went around the room, going from one dancer to the next, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

One of the guests had her hair piled high upon her head, in a manner which had been fashionable several decades ago. There were spiders crawling over her locks. Her dress was made of woven cobwebs. Her eyes were dark and dug into Lord Yuri, all the way down to his soul.

He got no time to look at any of the other dancers – the gentleman with the thistle-down hair pulled him into a dance as soon as the music resumed playing.

Round and round they went, slowly, meticulously, following the steps of the dance with great care as if putting a foot wrong would lead to a catastrophe that cannot be undone.

The ball continued for a many hours without pause for breath. None of the dancers showed any sign of fatigue, but it took all of Lord Yuri’s newfound energy to keep up with his partner.

 

Morning came to London. A bleak grey light entered the room where Lord Yuri slept and touched his eyelids.

He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, unable to understand where he was. Finally, the familiar sight of the pictures on the walls, the chair by the window and his bedside table was enough to put him at ease. He breathed out a sigh of relief. It had been a dream, nothing more than an odd vision painted by his imagination that had dissolved as soon as morning dawned.

Lord Yuri sat up. Every muscle in his body ached as though he had spent an entire night dancing at a ball.

 

Night lowered its dark veil over the city, stealing the sun away and leaving the moon in its place.

No one slept in the magician’s house at Hannover Square. A big crowd of ministers and people of high rank gathered in the sitting room, waiting for Yuuri to see them and grant their requests.

Victor gave orders for the servants to bring them everything they required. Every hour he sent out for more wine and more food.

The entire day had passed in attending to visitors. Yuuri saw them all in his library where he did his best to grant their wishes to their satisfaction. Darkness fell, two servants entered to light every candle in the room and still Yuuri worked his magic.

All the clocks in the house struck midnight and Victor stepped out onto the landing. Two visitors were still waiting for Yuuri and Victor considered asking them to go home and imagined what Yuuri would say to that.

He climbed up the staircase and entered the library where he found Yuuri in the middle of the room, bent over a silver dish filled with water, tapping the water’s surface lightly with his finger while the water glowed. There was a second man in the room. He was at Yuuri’s side, looking a little terrified.

Finally the water stopped glowing and Yuuri stepped away from the basin. “It is done,” he said and gave an exhausted sigh. He swayed a little on his feet and Victor caught him before he could fall on the carpet.

“Are there more visitors?” Yuuri asked, thanking his husband with a smile.

“I will ask them to return in the morning. You are in no state to help anyone,” Victor told his husband.

Yuuri protested that they had waited for a long time and deserved to have their requests granted, but he swayed once more and had to lean on Victor’s arm to remain upright.

“No more magic tonight,” Victor declared and led him away, ignoring all of his protestations.

Victor made sure to take Yuuri all the way to their bedchamber before seeing to the visitors. He spoke to the visitors himself and promised them that the next day Yuuri would see them first. Then he dismissed all the servants and finally he climbed the staircase to rejoin his husband.

He found Yuuri lost deep in sleep.

Victor sat down on the bed at his side and stroked his cheek affectionately. “My love,” he whispered, “it would seem that everyone wants you to do magic for them now. I am so sorry, my love.” He reached down and planted a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek.

When he raised his head there was a smile on the magician’s face.

 

The next morning Victor woke up late. As soon as he realized that the space beside him was empty he dressed as quickly as he could and rushed down the staircase to find Yuuri sitting at breakfast with a book of magic open before him.

“Good morning,” Victor said, coming to a halt before the table.

Yuuri rose to his feet and walked over to Victor to press a tender kiss to his hand. “Good morning, dear heart. I waited for you,” he admitted and helped Victor into his seat.

Victor sat down and frowned at his untouched breakfast. “Have you been waiting long?”

Yuuri consulted his pocket watch before answering. “A quarter of an hour, I think, but I barely noticed the time pass.” He sat back down, returning to his book.

“What are you reading about?” Victor asked, picking up the teapot and pouring its contents into Yuuri’s cup. “What could be so fascinating that it made you forget your hunger?”

“Faeries,” Yuuri replied. He took the teapot out of Victor’s hands and poured a cup for him. “It would seem that in the times of the Raven King they often kidnapped men and women, but especially children.”

“Like the Raven King himself,” Victor pointed out.

“Yes,” Yuuri agreed. He set the teapot down and picked up his fork and knife. “The Raven King did his best to put an end to it, but all of his efforts were in vain.”

“That does not surprise me,” Victor admitted. “From what I heard, faeries do not have our understanding of right and wrong.”

A servant entered the room and both men turned to look at him, forgetting for a moment about their conversation.

“This must be the visitors from yesterday,” Yuuri said, getting ready to rise.

“Masters,” the servant bowed respectfully to each of them in turn, “Sir Otabek is here to see Master Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

Victor gave Yuuri a look of surprise. “What can he want?”

Yuuri paled. He was certain that he knew the reason for Sir Otabek’s visit. His heart beat fast and his knees shook. Nevertheless, he rose to his feet, ready to leave.

Victor reached out and caught Yuuri’s hand. “My love, you hardly touched your breakfast. Surely Sir Otabek can wait for you to finish eating, if not out of consideration for you, then at the very least out of consideration for the fact that you need your strength in order to do your magic.”

For a moment it looked as though Yuuri would argue, but then he gave a nod and dropped back into his chair.

“Jeremy,” Victor said to the servant, “please ask Sir Otabek to wait. Yuuri will join him soon.”

As soon as the door closed behind Jeremy Victor turned his attention to his husband. “Do you know the reason for his visit?”

Yuuri did not raise his eyes from his plate. “I do,” he admitted darkly.

No less than half an hour later his suspicions were proved correct: the first words Sir Otabek said to him were, “I came to talk to you about my husband, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

 

On the day of Sir Otabek’s marriage many people told him that he was the happiest person in the world. He, himself, felt the truth of those words. He was certain he was at once the happiest and the luckiest person in the world. The week that followed did not dissuade him from this opinion.

After a wedding – even a wedding between two people very much in love with each other – comes a point when the two people learn enough about each other to see their spouse in a new light. For some people this means that they come to a realization that they had made a terrible mistake and they see at once all that their love was preventing them from seeing. In some cases their love is broken and they have to learn how to live in a marriage where they no longer love their spouse.

For Sir Otabek the situation was different. He loved Yuri deeply and knew him well, despite the illness that forced a distance between them. He was prepared to devote all his free time to his spouse, knowing well that the job of a minister took up most of his day. They attended balls and soirees together, dancing only with each other and everything promised to be just as Sir Otabek had hoped it would when his happiness was snatched away.

At first he thought it was just a nightmare, but when Yuri awoke for fifth time, trembling with fear and suffering from exhaustion, Sir Otabek asked him what the trouble was. He expected to hear about a recurring nightmare, but the answer he got was far from it.

“Fwhr and Tordil were locked in a long bitter fight that lasted a hundred years when one day they found a spot marked with regular straight lines, making it perfectly suited for fighting a battle by all the rules of their clans. They gathered their armies and prepared to fight to the death, but almost as soon as they started their battle a man interrupted them, declaring that the spot they had found was nothing more than his carpet and –”

Yuri cut himself off abruptly and drew in a sharp breath. “That was not what I meant to say!” he exclaimed, seizing Sir Otabek by the arm. “That was not… I was trying to tell you that…”

To Sir Otabek’s amazement, Yuri then told him a story even more incredible than the first.

Yuri placed a hand over his mouth to cut off the flow of strange words and sat in great distress that his tongue would not obey him.

Sir Otabek, understanding very little of what had happened, insisted that a doctor was sent for at once.

A doctor arrived in less than an hour and examined Yuri very closely. He pronounced him to be in perfect health, giving both Yuri and Sir Otabek a happy smile as he did so.

The doctor was an elderly man who had seen much of the world. He took one look at the troubled way the two young men looked at each other and came to his own conclusions. He drew Sir Otabek aside and spoke softly to him then.

“Perhaps His Lordship wants something? I dare say that after marriage the spouses of important men often find that the attention they received before the wedding far surpasses what they get after it. I dare say this is merely his way to…” the rest of the sentence froze on the doctor’s lips.

Sir Otabek gave him a cool look. “Yuri is not the sort of person who pretends to be ill merely for the sake of attention.”

The doctor then had an idea that proved to be much better than his first one, “It is possible that his ailment is not of the body, but of the spirit,” he said. “I have never dealt with patients who were returned to life by magical means, but I would expect them to get ailments of a different nature. A magical one,” he clarified, seeing the confusion on Sir Otabek’s face. There was a twinkle in the doctor’s eye as though the idea of magical ailments delighted him.

Sir Otabek thanked the man for his advice and saw him out before returning to the room where Yuri sat. The minister contemplated his husband in silence for several moments.

“What did the doctor say?” Yuri asked, feeling discomforted by the silence.

“He is convinced that you are suffering from a magical ailment,” Sir Otabek replied and his eyes bore into Yuri to see what he would say to this.

Yuri clenched his fists. He rose to his feet and walked about the room. Sir Otabek recognized the signs – Yuri was doing his best to contain his anger. Finally he turned and met Sir Otabek’s eye. His lips were white and his eyes flashed with fury. “This –” He stopped, struggled for words and finally he managed, “He will not help me.”

Sir Otabek considered those words. “May I try to appeal to him?” he asked.

Yuri nodded, but the expression on his face showed very plainly that he expected the request to be met with a refusal.

Sir Otabek ordered his carriage to be made ready and left. The more he thought about Yuri’s distressed state and his odd words, the more he became convinced that magic was involved in some way. Why was Yuri convinced that the magician would refuse to help him when the magician was the one who had brought him back to life?

The magician received him and listened to him relate all his worries without a word.

Sir Otabek pleaded with the man to come with him and see Yuri for himself. The minister, usually so reserved in his manner, spoke like a man on the verge of tears.

 

Victor was present at this interview and he felt moved to tears himself at the sight of Sir Otabek’s distress. Once Sir Otabek finished speaking he turned his eyes to his husband with the words, “There must be something you can do, Yuuri.” There was no doubt in his mind that Yuuri could put everything right, which was why Yuuri’s reaction caught him by surprise.

Yuuri turned his back to them and stared out the window, as though a noise in the street had drawn his attention.

The bells of a nearby church began to toll then, each sound long and melancholy. No one spoke until they finished.

“I will go see him,” Yuuri said at last, still staring out the window. “Although I doubt that I can help…” He spoke softly to himself, but Victor was close enough to catch the next words he said. “I knew he would trick me.”

What could those words possibly mean? Victor did not dare try to guess. He rose to his feet and made the preparations necessary for them to go, but Yuuri turned and caught his hand.

“Please stay here,” the magician said. There was a deep melancholy in his eyes that made refusing his request impossible.

Victor nodded. He did not ask why, placing his complete trust in Yuuri as always. But once Yuuri and Sir Otabek left, a great many questions rose in his mind, each of them in desperate need of an answer.

 

Sir Otabek did not think to ask why the magician had insisted his husband remain at home, but when the magician went one step further and asked for permission to see Yuri alone Sir Otabek gave in to the temptation to ask why.

“He will remain unharmed, I promise,” the magician assured him, avoiding the question.

Sir Otabek gave his permission, but remained right at the closed door just in case Yuri called him.

 

Yuuri closed the door behind himself with great caution, but this time he placed no silencing spell over it. He made a few steps towards Lord Yuri and froze under the intensity of his stare.

“You did this!” Lord Yuri exclaimed. “You are the reason I cannot speak, why I tell wild tales like a person who lost their mind! You made me –” He placed both hands over his mouth as though afraid of what he would say next.

“Please,” Yuuri said, stepping towards him.

Lord Yuri backed away against one of the windows. “Do not come near me! Do you hear me? You come any closer and I will scream!”

Yuuri retreated. “I know you are angry and I know you blame me. You are right: this is my fault, but I will put things right, I promise. Please trust me.”

“Trust you?” Lord Yuri burst out into cold laughter then, forgetting all his fears, he crossed the room and grabbed a hold of Yuuri by the wrists. “You better put this right, do you hear me? If you do not, I will see to it that you curse the day you decided to become a magician!” He released Yuuri and stepped back. “Now get out of my sight!”

Yuuri bowed and left the room in a great rush. He knew not what excuses he made to Sir Otabek before leaving the minister’s house and setting off on foot towards his own.

The walk back home gave him time to reflect on his conversation with Lord Yuri. How had the faerie tricked him? Yuuri could not say for certain, but from Otabek’s words it followed that whatever the faerie had done it was at night.

He returned home in a thoughtful mood. When Victor rushed out to greet him with his usual enthusiasm, convinced that Yuuri had put things right, Yuuri shook his head sadly and locked himself away in the library.

There he wrote a letter to Sir Otabek confessing everything. He read it over once he finished and tore it up. The little pieces were all tossed into the fireplace where they were reduced to ashes.

Yuuri uttered a spell of summoning and waited for the gentleman with the thistle-down hair to appear.

The faerie entered into the library as soon as the spell finished. He had a smile on his face and greeted Yuuri with a familiarity that bordered on impudence.

“You tricked me!” Yuuri exclaimed, forgetting all the words he had mentally prepared to say to the faerie. “I trusted you and you tricked me!” _Just like I knew you would!_

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair gave him a look that suggested that he had a very poor opinion of the magician. “Tricked? You gave me half of the young man’s life. I stuck to our agreement.”

Yuuri bit his lips in frustration. “Will you take something else in exchange?” As he spoke his eye fell on Victor’s portrait on the wall behind the gentleman with the thistle-down hair and he uttered a spell of concealment in his mind. The portrait became invisible.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair turned away and walked over to the wall where the portrait hung. He stood before the very spot and raised his hand.

Yuuri trembled. He could not see from where he stood what the expression on the gentleman’s face was. Could the faerie still see the portrait? “Well?” he asked.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair looked back at Yuuri, his countenance as calm as ever. “An agreement once made cannot be broken,” he declared and spread his arms. “You need not worry – the young man will never give away our secret.” The gentleman with the thistle-down hair circled Yuuri and whispered into his ear, “He is pleasant company indeed! I have grown weary of my cousins, and my brothers, and sisters. Perhaps I need more like him to join me.”

Yuuri paled. He thought again of Victor, not ten steps away and completely ignorant of the danger he was in. “I will not –” he began and stopped himself before he could finish what he was saying.

It was dangerous to anger a faerie. They knew far more magic than he did. All the books he read about them suggested that there was more magic in a faerie’s little finger that Yuuri had ever done. He would have to tread carefully.

“Forgive me,” he said, “I meant to say that human men and women make terrible company for beings as clever and as beautiful as yourself.”

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair considered those words. “Humans have gotten very dull, this much is true. I remember how clever the humans were at the court of the Raven King. No one currently alive can compare with them, I am sure.”

Yuuri listened hungrily, hoping to hear more about the Raven King, but the gentleman with the thistle-down hair took no pleasure in speaking about others and soon turned to his favourite topic – himself. He spoke at great length about a battle he had won using his great cunning and how he then celebrated his victory. Once he finished this tale he left without so much as a goodbye.

The magician stood with a defeated air about him.

Someone cried out in the street, startling Yuuri out of his thoughts and he rushed to his table where several books lay stacked on top of each other. He opened first one, then another, looking for more passages about faeries, but none of the books would give him the answers he sought so desperately.

That was how Victor found him an hour later – bent over his books, trying to read them all at once and as quickly as possible.

Victor crossed the room silently and slid his hands over Yuuri’s. “My love, there are people here to see you, but I forbid you from doing any more magic until you walk out in the air and then have lunch with me.”

 

Lord Yuri became weary of balls and avoided all society. The hopes many had placed in him came to nothing. He did not take the place in society that many had expected him to claim for himself. On the contrary, he received no one and communicated with no one.

A melancholy descended on Lord Yuri and Sir Otabek’s house. The servants continued to hear sad music that reminded them of the saddest times of their lives, making them believe that there would never be happy days again. No matter how many times Steven reasoned with him, Alfred went on insisting that he could hear trees growing outside the house.

Rumours swept through London. Some people said that something had gone wrong with the magic, while others insisted that being brought back from the dead made Lord Yuri think too highly of himself. Some people even went so far as to declare that balls and soirees were too mundane a pastime for Lord Yuri who had developed a taste for the strange and dangerous and spoke in whispers of laudanum and other more scandalous pastimes.


	5. The Magician’s Fortune

His Majesty’s government was full of ministers who considered that their needs (and, by extension, the country’s needs) far outweighed those of all of the magician’s other visitors and, having no wish to waste more time waiting in a line with everyone else, summoned Yuuri to them, leaving Victor to seek his own source of amusement.

At first Victor saw to all the little tasks one usually leaves for a different time. He gave the servants strict instructions that he was not to be interrupted and that any visitors who wished to see Yuuri were to be told that he was not at home. However, after an hour one of the visitors, a very insistent young woman who was convinced that she needed to see Yuuri very urgently, burst into the room where Victor was working.

“I demand to see the magician at once!” she exclaimed.

Victor raised his head. “That is impossible, madam,” he said coldly. He ignored all her protestations and refused to listen to a word she said. Instead, he rang for a servant and had her escorted out.

Alas, she was not the only one to do this and after three more visitors interrupted Victor, he sought for some sort of escape.

He descended the staircase and a servant helped him into his coat. “Jeremy,” he said to the servant, “ask all the visitors to return tomorrow. Tell them that both of your masters are away on urgent business that will take the rest of the day. Although, I sincerely hope that will not be the case.” Victor adjusted his gloves as the servant buttoned up his coat. “If Yuuri returns before me, tell him I will return in time for lunch.”

These instructions given, Victor left the house and let his feet carry him wherever they liked. He walked through the streets of London, stopping only when something caught his eye. Several times he passed a book shop and each time he would enter to see if any of them had a book of magic in their collection.

After Yuuri’s great success as a magician to His Majesty’s government, people began a search for books of magic. It mattered very little to them that they had no means to understand the contents of these books, or that they could do no magic whatsoever. Naturally, a great many charlatans appeared, offering to sell what they claimed were books of magic written by the Raven King himself.

Yuuri maintained a regular correspondence with many of the country’s booksellers, offering to buy any books of magic they would happen to find. Often Victor would write the letters in Yuuri’s name, agreeing to buy this or that book, if it sounded genuine enough.

After two hours of fruitless searching, Victor kept going, determined not to return empty-handed. Just then Victor’s feet brought him to a tent where a yellow curtain magician was offering his services.

Victor knew very well what Yuuri thought of the men and women who waited behind these curtains. He knew they were all charlatans and pretenders, but curiosity made him step inside to take a look. After all – he was seeing this magician for the first time.

Inside he found a man asleep on the floor. The magician – if such he could be called – had black unkempt hair and a wild look. One of his sleeves had caught on a button of his coat and was pulled up to reveal strange blue markings on his skin. These markings caught Victor’s eye right away. Something about them was familiar to him and he stepped closer for a better look, wondering where he could possibly have seen them before.

Victor’s gaze passed from the markings to the man’s face and he leapt back, seeing that one eye was open and staring at him unblinkingly. The magician’s second eye opened and he jumped up with a cry. “I know you!”

“You do?” Victor asked, retreating in fear.

“You,” the man declared, pointing one very dirty finger at his visitor, “are the husband of the magician of Hannover Square.”

Victor laughed at this. “I expect that most of London has heard of Yuuri and me.”

“And what can the magician’s husband want with me?” the man asked with a sly smile.

“I was curious to see what you can do,” Victor answered.

“Do you not have a magician of your own?” the man asked, but Victor could see that he liked the idea and was searching his pockets for something.

Victor remained firm. “So you can do nothing?”

“I did not say that.” The man grinned. “Would you like me to tell you your fortune?”

The offer sounded innocent enough and Victor, convinced that he would hear nothing but lies, prepared himself to hear something amusing.

The yellow curtain magician brought out a chair for Victor. He made a great show of clearing it with his hand and Victor sat down with a laugh.

“My name is Georgi!” the man announced, raising his arms like someone about to start an incantation.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Victor said with mock politeness.

“Do you know what these are?” Georgi asked, holding up a stack of cards.

Victor waited patiently for an explanation.

“These are the cards of Marseilles. They will tell me your future!” Georgi laid the stack down on the little table before him and then passed his hand through the air above it.

He turned over the top card. It showed a ragged-looking man sitting on a throne with a label below it that proclaimed it to be “ _L’empereur_ ”, the Emperor.

Georgi stared at it. He turned the next card over. It showed a man hanging upside down. Then another card and another.

Still Victor waited for an explanation of some sort, certain that one was forthcoming.

When Georgi ran out of cards he started to mumble something about a road and finding a fortune at the end of it, making Victor laugh.

“I can just as easily tell your fortune myself!” he declared and gathered the cards into a pile.

He laid them out on the table and turned them over, making up nonsense as he went. “You will meet a hanged man who will turn out to be an emperor,” he began, “and then become a hermit.” This proved to be much more amusing and he let his imagination run unchecked as his prediction became more nonsensical and ended with Georgi finding a set of scales.

Georgi laughed along with Victor, but when the cards ran out a second time he slammed his hand on the table, startling Victor. “Now I will tell the fortune of the magician of Hannover Square!” he declared.

A cold wind entered the tent, making Victor pull his coat tighter around himself. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

Georgi shuffled the cards and laid them out once more, turning each over as he went. First card – _L’empereur_. This time Victor studied the card more closely, taking in how frail the old man looked on his crooked throne. A stain in the corner caught Victor’s eye. He did not remember seeing it before and rubbed at it absently with his thumb, wondering how it came to be there. The stain refused to yield to his efforts.

Next card – _L’empereur._ The stain was a little bigger and darker now.

Victor reached for it, but stopped himself just in time, letting this stain pass.

Third card – _L’empereur._ The stain was a deep black now, as though someone had just dripped ink onto it.

Victor tried to laugh at this trick.

Fourth card – _L’empereur_. Fifth card, sixth card… The table was covered in emperors, all with a black spot in the empty right hand corner. The spot was not a stain now, but a raven in flight and with each card the emperor’s hair turned darker to match the colour of the stain. He looked younger now and had a wild look that spoke of moors and dark forests. The eyes darkened too, but there was a familiar light in them.

Victor raised his eyes from the cards and stared at Georgi. “What does this mean?” he whispered.

“This is the magician’s fortune,” Georgi answered. Then, seeing that the expression on Victor’s face did not change, he leaned forward and whispered, “The Raven King is his past, his present and his future.”

“The Raven King,” Victor repeated so softly that he could barely hear himself.

“ _A magician will come to England_ ,” Georgi said in the voice one uses when delivering a prophecy. “ _He will long to see me, but I will remain beyond his reach. He will aspire to greatness, but will be the cause of his own undoing. Men and women will gather around him, but there will hardly be a friend among them. He will give his heart away and yet always feel it ache. Troubled shall be the kingless days: the trees shall go silent, the sky shall refuse to speak and many roads shall turn on themselves. The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it. The stones shall make a throne for me and I shall sit upon it. Nothing and no one shall escape me_.”

Victor barely understood a word of what Georgi said. His eyes were still fixed on the cards. They were no more than pencil drawings done very poorly on bits of paper, and thus it must have been thanks mostly to Victor’s imagination that all the emperors resembled Yuuri. It had to be. There was no other explanation for it.

His fingers trailed over the last card as an odd thought occurred to him. Yuuri was raven-haired and the only magician in all of England, much like the Raven King had been at the start of his reign.

Georgi, frustrated that his words were not having the desired effect on Victor, jumped to his feet and bellowed them all out a second time.

This made Victor look at him, but instead of listening to the prophecy, he rose to his feet and asked a question that Georgi had not expected to hear, “I would like to buy these cards from you. Will you sell them to me?”

After protesting that they were very important to him and that he needed them for his fortune telling, Georgi sold them all for sixpence.

Victor gathered them all and placed them carefully in the inside pocket of his coat. “That is a very neat trick you did,” he told Georgi and stepped out of his tent with a quiet, “good day.”

He hurried home, feeling as though he had found a treasure and was delighted to learn upon his return that Yuuri had just arrived and was waiting for him.

Victor lingered before a mirror and made a few small adjustments to his appearance. He gave his reflection a smile and a small nod. His cheeks were a little rosy and his hair framed his face in a way that was most becoming. He was more beautiful than ever.

There was a happy energy in each of his steps as he hurried to rejoin his husband at the table. It did not escape his notice how Yuuri’s eyes fixed on him when they greeted each other, nor did he miss the frequent glances the magician sent his way as they ate.

“Where did you go?” Yuuri asked as a servant brought in their lunch and laid it out on the table between them.

“I went for a walk,” Victor began. “I was searching for more books of magic for you, my love, but I…” he smiled winningly and watched the way the colour rose to Yuuri’s cheeks. “I hope you will forgive me – I paid a visit to one of those yellow curtain magicians. A wild man, I thought.”

Yuuri frowned.

“He really was very amusing,” Victor insisted, discouraged by his husband’s reaction. “He showed me a set of cards that he had and then tried to tell my fortune using them, but everything he said was such nonsense!” He laughed, but the sound froze on his lips at the sight of the way Yuuri was looking at him.

For a while Victor was convinced that Yuuri would shout, but the magician remained silent.

“I know what you think of them, but our conversation was nothing more than harmless fun,” Victor assured him. “He showed me a trick with his cards. I bought them to show you. I will call Jeremy to fetch them here at once.” He rang for the servant and gave the order for him to bring the cards.

Still the magician said nothing.

Victor forgot about his food and waited impatiently for the cards, but as soon as he had the cards in his hands his face fell. Gone were the many Raven Kings. Before him were just the ordinary cards he had pretended to use to tell Georgi’s fortune.

“I do not understand,” he stammered out. “They were different. I remember this very clearly! They were all of the Raven King and…”

The cards were nothing more than terrible drawings copied onto little pieces of paper. If before they had appeared fascinating to Victor, now they were utterly worthless.

“He tricked me!” Victor wailed.

Yuuri picked a few of the cards to study them himself. “What did they look like? What did you wish to show me?”

Victor did his best to describe them from his memory. “They showed the Raven King sitting in his throne and here,” he pointed to a spot just right of the Emperor’s head, “there was a raven in flight.” He talked about the king’s wild look and the spark in his eyes, but omitted the most important detail: he could not bring himself to admit that the king had reminded him of Yuuri.

The magician listened with a hint of a smile on his face.

Victor drew a circle around _L’Empereur_ with his finger with a dejected sigh.

A stain appeared in the corner of the card, getting darker with each second as though it was the shadow of something getting closer until at last it unfurled its wings and revealed itself to be a raven in flight. The Emperor’s throne darkened and straightened up. His hair turned black and lengthened, curling into unkempt tangles. Every other card on the table changed to show the same picture. All the Raven Kings regarded Victor with a knowing look, as though they could see every thought in his mind.

Victor gave Yuuri a delighted smile.

The magician picked one of the cards up to study it closely. “Perhaps, you should have asked the man how he had done his trick.”

A memory returned to Victor then. “When he showed me these cards he told me that this was your past, present and future – the Raven King, that is.”

Yuuri frowned. He returned the card to the table and stepped away.

“If this is true,” Victor went on, rising to his feet, “then you are meant to –”

Yuuri stopped Victor from finishing the rest of his sentence with a look. In that moment he appeared fragile and weak to Victor’s eyes. Victor remembered the respectful way in which Yuuri greeted every visitor that came to him for help, how much time he devoted to each of them, regardless of their rank, and how happy he was when the visitor went away satisfied.

The cards showed the wild king sitting on his throne as though about to give an order he expected to be carried out immediately. Victor raised his eyes again to look at his husband. It was difficult to imagine two people who were more different from each other than they were.

 

That evening Victor slept very poorly. He dreamt that he lay at the feet of the throne of the Raven King who had Yuuri’s face, but someone else’s cold eyes. He wore a green waistcoat that had gone out of style many decades ago and Victor had never seen shoes like the ones Yuuri had on his feet.

Victor awoke with a start to find that the place beside him was empty. He sat up. His long hair tumbled down past his shoulders. His fingers worked the loose strands into a braid as he took in the empty room around him.

Finally he rose, pulled on a dressing gown and made for the library.

The house was silent, not a creak sounded on the steps, not a single clutter from the servants’ quarters. Even the street outside was terrifyingly still.

Victor felt the cold seep in through the fabric of his dressing gown and his shirt. Dark shadows fell over the stairs leading down, but he continued onwards, determined to see Yuuri.

The whole world held its breath and Victor knew instinctively that somewhere nearby magic was being done. He paused with his hand on the heavy door that led into the library and held his breath.

Yuuri’s voice carried to him. He was uttering incantations with barely a pause to draw breath.

Victor opened the door and peered inside.

Yuuri stood, hunched over a water basin as he worked his magic. The cold light of the moon fell in through the window, throwing dark shadows over his face. A single candle burned to the right of him but it was not enough to fully illuminate the room, or at the very least to make it feel warm and welcoming.

Victor closed the door behind him. “My love,” he called.

Yuuri raised his eyes and for a moment there was fear on his face, as though he had seen someone other than Victor enter the room.

“Why are you not sleeping?” Victor asked, taking Yuuri by the hands and looking into his face. “You need to rest.”

“I could not sleep. I was thinking about England’s defences.” Yuuri indicated the basin of water and Victor peered into it. The water showed the sea crashing against a treacherous coast. “I thought if I could put a barrier here it would keep the French out.”

Victor gathered Yuuri into his arms. “My love, it must be midnight now and I dare say that England can survive without these defences until the morning.”

He picked up the candleholder and led his protesting husband out of the library.

A shadow passed over the moon and for a time as short as the blink of an eye all the mirrors in the house reflected only the shadows in the house.

Yuuri stopped walking and looked around himself. “Did you feel that?” he asked.

“What?” Victor whispered.

Yuuri bent his head forward, as though listening to sounds only he could hear. A heavy silence descended all about them.

Yuuri shook his head and allowed Victor to lead him away to their bedchamber.

 

At Victor’s insistence, Yuuri was granted a day without visitors, the morning of which he spent alone in the library, studying yet another passage relating to faeries.

The sound of the door opening made him raise his head, but instead of Victor or one of the servants he had expected to see, a strange man entered the library.

The sorry state of his clothes – from the dirty stains to the tears – made Yuuri wince as he imagined what Victor would say in his place.

The magician mistook the visitor for a workman sent to clean out the fireplace and wondered why he had come at a time when he was busy in the library himself. Knowing that the distraction would be too much for him, he rose with a resigned sigh and prepared the leave when the strange man jumped up to him, exclaiming, “You!”

“Me?” Yuuri asked in surprise. His eye passed over the man a second time and only then did he notice that he carried no tools with him. Yuuri threw a quick glance at the door, but, unfortunately, the stranger stood between him and his only hope of escape.

“You are the magician of Hannover Square!” the intruder declared.

“I am,” Yuuri agreed and opened his mouth to begin a spell to send the man away.

The stranger leapt towards him and covered Yuuri’s mouth with his hand. “I have a message for you!” he declared.

Yuuri recoiled as the smell of the man hit him like something hard and very unpleasant. His back hit a wall and the stranger pounced on him a second time, determined to say all that he had to say.

“I know your future, magician!” the man declared. “And I came here to reveal it to you!”

Yuuri straightened up indignantly. “And, no doubt, you will want my money in return?” His hands tightened into fists. “I know you. You are one of those yellow curtain magicians who disgraces the honest name of real magicians. You will get no money from me! I advise you to leave before I call the servants and they force you out of the house.”

Anger rose in Yuuri’s chest. How had the man entered his house and found his way as far as the library? Had one of the servants neglected to lock one of the doors?

“ _A magician will come to England!_ ” the man screamed, startling Yuuri who was about to reach for the bell to summon a servant. “ _He will long to see me, but I will remain beyond his reach!_ ”

Yuuri was about to interject, but still the man pressed on.

“ _He will aspire to greatness, but will be the cause of his own undoing. Men and women will gather around him, but there will hardly be a friend among them._ ”

“I suppose this is all meant to be about me?” Yuuri cut in impatiently. “You can keep your prophecy to yourself. I have no need of cautions, particularly not from a charlatan!”

The stranger continued to recite the prophecy. He repeated word for word the one Georgi had delivered to Victor – for it was, in fact, Georgi himself who had come to Yuuri now – despite Yuuri’s frequent attempts to stop him. Once he reached the end he stood expectantly, as though waiting for some show of gratitude or congratulations.

“Is this the sort of nonsense you tell everyone who comes to you to have their fortune told?” Yuuri demanded, forgetting that he had meant to summon his servants to escort the man out of the house. “Who ever heard of rain making doors? As for the rest of it, no doubt you took it from the stories people enjoy telling about the Raven King.”

“This is the prophecy of the Raven King himself!” the man protested with an affronted look on his face.

Yuuri remembered all the stories about the many elaborate schemes yellow curtain magicians used to get money out of others. “There is no prophecy of the Raven King! If there was, how would you happen upon it and not I, who has been studying the life of the Raven King for nearly five years?”

The man gave Yuuri a sly look. “I got it from the Raven King’s book.”

“The Raven King’s book? The Raven King wrote no book!” Yuuri exclaimed and then stopped to consider those words. How could he make such a claim? It was possible that the Raven King _had_ written a book, but very few people had heard of it. After all, not all books of magic were known to him and from time to time he would discover one that he had never heard of before. “Can you show me this book?” he asked. “If it is what you claim it to be, I will buy it from you.”

The man laughed and danced around Yuuri. “You cannot see the book!” he sang out with glee. “You will never see it!”

Before Yuuri could find what to say to such a boast, the man turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.

Yuuri stumbled after him, but he lost sight of the man as soon as he turned out of the corridor and did not succeed in catching up with him later.

A great commotion passed through the house. Victor rushed out to see what the matter was. As soon as he learned about the intruder he gathered all the servants and questioned them until he learned how the intruder made it into the library and how he had escaped. He related all this in great detail to Yuuri, but Yuuri cared very little for such details.

“He claims that the he has the Raven King’s book!” Yuuri exclaimed. “If I could but see it!”

“I did not know that the Raven King had written a book,” Victor said with a hint of doubt in his voice.

“I have certainly never heard of one before now,” Yuuri confirmed. He paced back and forth across the room while Victor watched him from his chair. “Perhaps this is nothing more than a lie told by him to frustrate me, but what if it is true? Ah! I should very much like to see this book!”

“Did the intruder tell you his name?” Victor asked. Already he was making plans in his mind as to how he would proceed with his inquiries.

“He did not,” Yuuri admitted. “Or…” He stopped pacing as his mind went over the conversation once more. “If he had, it is possible that I have forgotten it.”

“What did he look like?” Victor asked next. There was doubt in his mind now that they could ever find the intruder.

“He had a wild, unkempt look. His clothes…” Yuuri closed his eyes to aid his memory and described the man as best as he could from his dirty linen to his blue coat. Once he finished he opened his eyes and welcomed the sight of Victor.

“That sounds like Georgi!” Victor exclaimed. “If that is the cause, it should be easy enough to find him and ask him about this book.”

A week went by during the course of which Victor hired someone to make all the necessary inquiries on his behalf. When it became clear to him that no more could be discovered, he recounted what he had learned to Yuuri.

“Georgi has no books in his possession,” he began as they waited for the servants to bring their dinner. “However, I discovered, much to my surprise, that he is married. The man I sent to investigate paid a visit to Georgi’s wife, but she had never heard or seen Georgi’s book either.” Victor paused for a moment as he did his best to remember if there were any other details which would interest Yuuri, finally convinced that there were none he concluded with, “I do not think it exists.”

Yuuri, having no wish to pry any further into another man’s affairs and feeling embarrassed of how much prying had already been done on his behalf, accepted this without further argument and the matter was dropped.

Yet, at times, Yuuri would stop what he was doing and think about Georgi’s words and wonder if there was some truth to them after all.  

 

The following morning the ministers sent for Yuuri once more. Victor was left with no other choice but to help Yuuri into his coat and wish him luck.

“I apologize for leaving you like this,” Yuuri said, “and repeatedly too. Whatever must you think of me!”

Victor fastened the buttons of Yuuri’s coat as the corners of his mouth rose just a little in a smile. Even if Yuuri had not the use of his magic, it would have been impossible to stay mad at him for long, of this Victor was certain.

“I make a very poor husband,” Yuuri went on. “You must regret marrying –”

Victor placed a silencing finger over Yuuri’s lips. “Please, my love, say no more, unless you wish to anger me. I do not regret marrying you even for a single moment. I will never regret marrying you, not after all the happiness you gave me.”

“There is no need to wait on me!” Yuuri protested as he coloured at the sound of Victor’s words. “I am the one who should be giving you all these attentions!”

No words Yuuri could possibly say would convince Victor that he should abandon his extraordinary behaviour and Yuuri had no choice but to change the subject of their conversation.

“I hope I will be able to return soon,” Yuuri said, talking Victor’s head with both hands, “and then I will make amends for my absence.”

Victor accepted this promise as the magician sealed it with a kiss. For a moment the world had only the two of them in it and there was no need for anyone else.

“I love you,” Victor confessed, keeping his eyes fixed on Yuuri’s, “to the very depths of my soul.”

“As do I.”

They took a long time in saying their goodbyes, but when at last Yuuri did leave Victor watched him go with a deep melancholy in his heart. He knew his husband’s absence would last half the day at least, leaving him once more with a need to find a way to pass the time while he waited.

In this Victor was wrong: scarcely an hour passed before a servant arrived, bringing with him a short note from Yuuri.

_My dear Victor,_

_Sir Otabek invited us both to lunch and I accepted on your behalf. I hope sincerely that you can join us._

_Sending all my love,_

_Yuuri._

Victor was quick to write his own reply that while accepting the invitation also renewed his love vows. He sent the servant back with the response and left to change into his dining clothes.

Victor arrived early. The servants that came out to meet him told him that Sir Otabek and Yuuri had not arrived yet. They showed him into a sitting room, saying something about Lord Yuri, and Victor let them leave, thinking that the second master of the house would join him soon.

The walls of the room were all covered in paintings of Venice. They showed large squares, grand palaces and the canals of the city.

Victor walked from painting to painting, giving each a long look. The scenes delighted him. He had never visited Venice, but he had seen many drawings of it. These paintings, all done by the same hand, were among the loveliest he had ever seen.

Finally he came to the last one and his eyes fell on the couch below it where Lord Yuri sat with an angry expression on his face.

“Please forgive me,” Victor apologized with a bow. “I was convinced that the servant said they would summon you and I…” He cleared his throat. “These are very wonderful paintings! I imagine the city itself must be very delightful!”

The expression on Lord Yuri’s face softened a little. “Only here, with these paintings, can I feel truly at peace. There are no endless balls and no crowds of people to wear me out.”

“The paintings are empty, it is true,” Victor noted, his eyes on the last one once more. “But without people they are incomplete.”

Lord Yuri scoffed. “To be constantly surrounded by people who want to speak with you, or, worse, to dance with you is the most dreadful thing in the world!”

Victor sat down next to Lord Yuri.

“You are the magician’s husband,” Lord Yuri said as recognition dawned and he edged away. There was so much hate in his voice that Victor gave an involuntary shudder. “What do you want with me?”

“Nothing,” Victor assured him. He rose to his feet. “I had no wish to distress you,” he went on, “and I will leave at once.”

“Wait,” Lord Yuri said. “Do you know how much danger you are in? That magician plays with human souls!”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Please, I assure you, Yuuri would never –”

“He does! Sit down, there is something you must know, but I warn you that every time I try to tell anyone this, I…”

“What is it?”

Lord Yuri took a deep breath. “In a small wood by the stream lived a bird that could speak with a human voice. The local prince often sent the bird out to spy on his enemies. They had no knowledge of the bird’s existence, but one day –” Lord Yuri tightened his fists. “Again!” he exclaimed. “Again! Never will I be free of this! Never…” His eyes flashed at Victor. “Do you see now? Do you see it?”

Victor, who knew about Lord Yuri’s strange predicament from Sir Otabek himself and who had put it down to a side-effect of Lord Yuri’s miraculous return to life, attempted to soothe the young man.

“I have no use for your pity!” the man shouted in disgust. “It will not make any ball shorter or ease my sufferings. Leave me be!”

Victor rose to go again, but seeing Lord Yuri’s distress made him hesitate. “Have hope,” he said. “One day your sufferings will end, I am sure of it.”

“With my death, perhaps,” Lord Yuri said darkly.

Victor shuddered at the sound of those words. He gathered all his patience and tried to think of words to say that would help him in Lord Yuri’s situation. “Think of Sir Otabek and be strong for him. I know he loves you very much.”

Victor watched Lord Yuri hide his face to wipe a tear away discreetly. “I wish he had never met me,” he whispered. “I brought him nothing but misery.”

“I do not think so,” Victor insisted. “I was there to witness his joy at your revival. I have heard him speak of you with the highest praise.”

Lord Yuri was silent.

Victor marvelled at the change the past few weeks had brought about in him. So full of life before, now he sat like an old man weighed down by all of life’s sorrows.

He knew that Yuuri often thought of him. Yuuri said little about the revival, but Victor knew his husband well enough to see what was uppermost in his mind.

The door opened and Victor rose to greet their visitors while Lord Yuri remained where he was.

Sir Otabek entered the room. He gave Victor a quick and formal greeting and walked over to his husband to take his hand and give it a respectful kiss. He enquired after his husband’s health with a voice full of tender emotion.

Lord Yuri protested to his husband that Sir Otabek was too formal with him.

Victor felt like an intruder and cast his eyes at the door leading out of the room. He suspected that his husband was waiting just outside, not wishing to distress Lord Yuri with his presence.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Sir Otabek asked his husband.

“I am not hungry,” Lord Yuri said.

“We would all be delighted to have you with us,” Sir Otabek assured him. “If you change your mind, you can come join us.”

Victor took his leave of Lord Yuri, wishing him that his health would improve soon.

The young man regarded him with sad eyes. “I am perfectly healthy, or so the doctors say.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “But I suspect that they have a hard time believing themselves.”

“Most certainly!” Victor exclaimed and made an attempt to raise the young man’s spirits. “For all their learning, at times I cannot help but think that I would fare better as a doctor than they do and I can barely tell you where the heart is!”

Lord Yuri smiled a little at this and, perhaps it was nothing more than Victor’s imagination, but he was certain that the smile was not as bitter and pained as before. “Come visit me again,” he offered.

Victor was flattered by this invitation and promised to visit as often as he could after which he left the room and reunited with his husband in the corridor.

Yuuri gave Victor a warm greeting along with a kiss.

“My love,” Victor began and found himself unable to continue. He held Yuuri close and his heart beat fast in his chest, as though they had been separated for a long time.

_I am happiest by your side,_ Victor thought and would have said as much aloud, but for the sound of Sir Otabek’s footsteps, followed closely by his invitation to follow him.

As they sat down to lunch Victor watched his two companions speak to each other and marvelled at their friendship. Lord Yuri blamed his condition on Yuuri himself, but Sir Otabek did not hold that against the magician. Perhaps, it was because Yuuri had promised him to find a cure and Sir Otabek believed him, or perhaps it was thanks to a similarity between the two men.

It was a pleasant lunch. Despite his sorrows, Sir Otabek did his best to be a good host. He was a very interesting man to talk to and Victor changed the topic of their conversation several times, curious to hear the man’s opinion on this and that matter.

Most of the minister’s answers satisfied Victor and, catching the way Yuuri was looking at him, Victor smiled and changed the conversation to more innocent subjects.

There was a short silence and then Sir Otabek said, “I am glad that you accepted my invitation to come here, Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki.”

Victor replied that, on the contrary, he was very grateful for the invitation and that it had done him a great honour and so on.

“I have a request for Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Sir Otabek announced. “I wish you to understand that I speak on behalf of His Majesty’s government. This is a difficult request for me to make and I understand if you decline to grant it.”

This was a very troubling prologue and it made Victor and Yuuri exchange a worried glance.

Sir Otabek waited for the servants to clear the table before continuing to speak again, “The war with Napoleon is not going well. We are very grateful for your help, of course, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, but most of the ministers are of the opinion that you would be better positioned to help in the war if you were out there on the battlefield in Spain.”

Victor looked at Yuuri. He felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. To serve one’s country was the duty of every person, but if Yuuri left for Spain, they would have to be separated. There were no spouses out on the battlefield, any person who went was forced to leave their loved one behind.

Yuuri was silent. Victor knew he was hesitating, torn between his love and his sense of duty, and he understood that it fell to him to make the choice. “You must go,” he told Yuuri. “Your first duty is to your country.” He placed a hand over Yuuri’s and did his best to hide his pain behind a smile. “I am certain that all it will take is a few days for a magician to defeat Napoleon.”

Their eyes were fixed on each other for a short while before Yuuri tore his gaze away and met Sir Otabek’s eye, “I will go,” he agreed in a low tone of voice.


	6. Lord Yakov Feltsman

Waves crashed against the coast, sending water droplets up into the air where they mixed with the rain coming from the heavens above. A strong wind blew from the coast and lightning flashed amid the clouds above. Despite all these hardships, a ship sailed into the harbor in Lisbon, bearing many men and women, and among them – Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, England’s only practical magician.

Yuuri did not travel alone – Victor had insisted he bring Jeremy with him. He also brought along several of his books. The magician had no way of knowing what magic would be required of him, but he did his best to anticipate this with his choice of books.

After the comforts of London, after a home where his husband did his best to anticipate Yuuri’s needs, the ship with its disorganized mass of people who were left to their own devices for the most part came as a surprise. That is not to say that the voyage was uncomfortable or that Yuuri did not enjoy it.

When the ship entered the harbour he was out on the deck, taking in every detail of the city before him.

A true port can boast of two things – ships and big crowds of people either loading the ships, or unloading them. This port provided both in generous amounts as well as soldiers everywhere one dared to look. Yuuri took it all in with one long thoughtful look and as soon as they landed on the shore he sent Jeremy to find out where Lord Yakov Feltsman could be found.

The magician knew that His Lordship was deep in the war with Napoleon and had formed his own expectation of what he would have to face. He imagined a far-off battlefield with men on horses and soldiers charging at each other with rifles in their arms and, amid it all, he could picture Lord Yakov himself on the back of his favourite horse, directing his armies against Napoleon.

He soon learned that his expectations were wrong. After several days of travelling across the countryside Yuuri and Jeremy came to Ponto Negro, the village where they were told they would find Lord Yakov. The village had an old church, a few houses, and a lot more villagers than Yuuri had expected to see this close to any battlefield.

There were children playing in the streets and adults going about their business as though it were another day and there was no war to worry about at all. The sound of all manner of animals from chickens to pigs filled the air as the bells of the church tolled every hour. The only reminders of the war were the soldiers that appeared here and there in the street.

Yuuri stopped one of them and asked where Lord Yakov was. The magician could not say for certain what answer he expected in return for his question, but it was unlike the one he got.

“Why, he is at the lines, sir,” the man said as though there was no other place for the general to be. The tone was so confident, in fact, that Yuuri let him leave before he could realize that he had no idea what to make of the man’s answer. What lines? There were lines in a war?

After puzzling over this for some time he sent Jeremy to find out where Lord Yakov was, hoping the man would get an answer that made more sense.

“Sir,” Jeremy said once he returned, “I was told Lord Yakov is at the lines.”

The magician sighed. “What lines? What does that mean?”

“Forgive me, sir, but the gentleman said it as though it were the most commonplace thing in the world. I thought you would know what it meant.”

Yuuri found another soldier and put the question to him himself.

After a few questions and more confusion the soldier insisted they go to the Army’s Headquarters, promising that Lord Yakov would return there soon.

It is hard to describe a man whose name rang all through the kingdom. There was not a man, woman or child who had not seen his likeness at least once in their lifetime. Everyone is always eager to assign every possible virtue to him. Lord Yakov Feltsman had spent many years in a war against Napoleon. Out of all the officers in the army he was the only one who remained from those first battles with Napoleon. Death claimed everyone else, but him and most of the soldiers in the British army were convinced that Lord Yakov had done a deal with Death itself that it would not claim him until it took Napoleon.

Evening fell and Yuuri arrived at the house that he was told functioned as the Army Headquarters. Two men stood at a table on the first floor, but a single glance was enough to determine that neither of them was Lord Yakov and Yuuri ascended the staircase without taking the trouble to learn their names.

He entered a big dining room and took in the sight of a table laden with all the food this part of the country could offer and swallowed down his hunger.

Men and women in officers’ uniforms sat around this table and talked excitedly to each other. They spoke about the wine and the food they had before them, as if forgetting for the moment about the war that had brought them all here. At the head of the table sat a grey-haired man and watched his officers with an easy smile on his face. The scene looked so peaceful that Yuuri hesitated in the doorway, feeling like an intruder.

“I dare say that person over there is here to see you,” one of the officers told Lord Yakov, pointing Yuuri out.

The old general turned to see who it was.

Yuuri stood still under a gaze that took him in from head to toe.

“Who are you? Speak!” Lord Yakov ordered.

“I am Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov,” he said and tried to smile. “I am the magician His Majesty’s government sent me here to help you.”

“Ah, the magician,” Lord Yakov repeated with a disapproving tone of voice. “You are the one responsible for all the ministers meddling in my war. Without your help, I dare say they would have meddled much less. They saw the visions you conjured for them and were led to believe that they know how matters stand. This is wrong. I am the only person who knows what is best to be done, as I am the only one acquainted with all of the circumstances.”

Yuuri trembled under the weight of all these accusations. “Perhaps, now that I am here,” he managed to say, “you can tell me yourself what you would like me to do? Under your direction I will no longer get in your way.”

Lord Yakov regarded him with a frown. “What I need right now are more soldiers. Can you make more?”

Yuuri lowered his head. “No,” he admitted.

“Can you make the bullets fly faster or kill more Frenchmen?” Lord Yakov pressed on.

“I cannot.”

“Then you are of no use to me,” he declared. “The army’s doctor and the army’s priest live somewhere near here, I believe. One of the men can point out their houses to you. Perhaps, one of them can find a use for you. I, for my part, have no need of your services. Good evening.”

Yuuri bowed and left, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He had grown accustomed to treating people with all the politeness that good manners required of him and for others to treat him in the same way. Many of the people who came to him were prepared to do anything in exchange for his assistance. To be thus dismissed and sent to the doctor and the priest felt too much like an insult.

When Yuuri returned to the room he had succeeded in securing for himself he wrote Victor a long letter full of the tenderest words he could think of. He missed his husband and longed to return home and do magic for his amusement.

Victor was happy with the smallest, the simplest act of magic. He never found a single fault with the magic that Yuuri performed and never saw him as a nuisance.

Yuuri wrote of what he saw and a little of his journey, but made no mention of Lord Yakov’s words.

When he finished writing he sealed the letter and sent it off with Jeremy before settling down to sleep for the night.

 

The next morning he presented himself to the doctor and the priest with offers of his services to both.

The doctor told him brusquely that he had no need for magic. The priest said the same, but with much kinder words.

“From the little that I know of magic, magicians and clergymen never understood each other,” he said, sitting Yuuri down and insisting they have lunch together. “But, perhaps, you will not object to some advice?”

Yuuri nodded gratefully. At that moment he felt that he needed advice more than ever.

“When I first came here Lord Yakov told me that he had no use for me and for a while I regretted taking the trouble of coming all this way. I dare say the priest who had this position before me spent all his time in the church and rarely ever saw anyone alive. On my second day here I went out to the lines to be with the men and with time they accepted me as one of their own. You must go out there as well. When they see that you are willing to share their hardships with them they will accept you too, you will see.”

Yuuri thanked the man for this piece of advice.

“And, I dare add,” the priest added with a smile, “that a bottle of wine will not go amiss. I find that soldiers are always eager to be friends with a person willing to share his wine with them.”

Armed with this advice, his books of magic, a casket of wine and his servant, Yuuri set off for the soldiers’ lines.

The soldiers were surprised to find a magician in their midst. Word had reached them from England that a magician had been found, but they all expected him to be a wild and romantic fellow, much like the Raven King was in all the tales about him. At the sight of a gentleman with meek manner they turned suspicious and had no wish to speak with him.

Yuuri sat down in the grass with a tired sigh. He lowered his eyes and discovered to his surprise that he could see the moon on the ground.

It was nothing more than a puddle reflecting the sky overhead.

Yuuri reached out and worked his magic over it.

 

_Victor stood before a servant and dictated his orders to the man. There was a calm expression on his face until the servant left and closed the door behind him._

_As though something released Victor in that moment, he dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands._

“Oh, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, reaching out so that the tips of his fingers touched the surface of the water where his face appeared.

 

_“Yuuri?” Victor asked, turning his head and looking about himself. Seeing the empty room, he gave a long sigh, rose to his feet and left._

Yuuri echoed Victor’s sigh and tapped the water’s surface three times, making the vision disappear. “What do I do now, Victor?” he whispered.

An hour of deep contemplation reminded him of the priest’s advice and, putting on his most convincing smile, Yuuri invited several soldiers to drink with him.

 

It was difficult for Victor to stay for long hours in the house at Hannover Square. The post was only delivered in the mornings, but every sound of a visitor throughout the day made him hope that they came with some news from Yuuri. Every time it proved to be a delivery of meat, or fruit, or tea, or some other article Victor had ordered earlier.

No visitors came for Yuuri: word had spread far and wide of his no longer being in the country and, for a time at least, they had to make do with finding non-magical solutions to whatever troubled them.

Victor carried on as best as he could in Yuuri’s absence. He attended all auctions which promised to include books of magic. He corresponded with friends and family. He oversaw the household duties and went out for long walks.

Despite all these occupations, Yuuri’s absence took a heavy toll on him. Not having Yuuri to charm and please, he no longer spent many hours before the mirror, perfecting his appearance. Often he took his time in responding to a question someone put to him, so occupied was his mind with thoughts of Yuuri.

He devoted his evenings to the perusal of Yuuri’s letters as he sat in Yuuri’s chair in the library. At times he would close his eyes and imagine Yuuri was there with him.

One morning he remembered his promise to visit Lord Yuri and made preparations to go to the young man’s house. During his journey he amused himself by recalling every detail of their lunch together at Lord Yuri’s house, the sound of Yuuri’s voice and the expressions on his face. As he arrived at Lord Yuri’s house it occurred to him that in all his time with Yuuri he had never succeeded in explaining just how strong his feelings were.

 _Perhaps I love him more now than I have ever done,_ he thought. _Perhaps I did not understand the full extent of my feelings for him. Oh, but to have him here with me, even if he was constantly away from the house on business! To know that I could be with him in less than an hour if I so wished!_

He stepped out of the carriage and entered Lord Yuri’s house, envying him the closeness of his husband. For a moment he paused as a daring thought entered his mind. If he was in Lord Yuri’s situation – mad, but with his husband always near him – he would have known greater happiness.

He scolded himself for this thought. It was a wrong one to have, he reminded himself

A servant showed him up into the room with the Venetian paintings where Lord Yuri greeted him in his usual reserved and bitter tones. As always, the young man radiated anger with the world around him.

“You must take some comfort from your husband’s presence,” Victor pointed out. “Oh, how I wish I could be at Yuuri’s side now! No doubt he is cold and hungry out there in the war!”

A smile of dark satisfaction appeared briefly on Lord Yuri’s face.

Victor continued to talk about indifferent subjects. A part of him pitied the young man, but a different part was starting to lose his patience. Lord Yuri found fault with many things and it was difficult to remember about his distressed state and make allowances for it.

Finally, feeling his patience begin to run out, Victor rose to his feet and left under the pretext of having remembered something to tell Sir Otabek.

 _How impatient I have become!_ he reprimanded himself as he stood alone in the corridor. _I barely spoke for a quarter of an hour with him before continuing became impossible for me. Surely I am more patient than that!_

Sir Otabek stepped out into the corridor and gave him a surprised look. He began to say something about not knowing about Victor’s presence in his house to which Victor replied that he had come recently. He then pulled out his pocket watch as further proof of this.

“How odd!” he exclaimed. “I was certain this morning that my watch is working properly, but it would seem now that it is showing the wrong time.”

Sir Otabek produced his own pocket watch. Both showed that it was 10 o’clock precisely.

“How strange!” Victor exclaimed. “And, yet, I hear no bells!”

Sir Otabek looked uncomfortable at this observation. “As a result of my husband’s delicate condition,” he began at last, “the sound of bells distresses him greatly. I asked the priest of our parish’s church if he could not ring the bells and he obliged.”

Victor listened to this with some surprise and then admitted that he, too, would have done the same for his husband.

 _I was wrong, then,_ he thought. _I must have spent an hour in Lord Yuri’s company, but with no bells to tell the time it felt shorter._

Sir Otabek invited Victor to stay and have lunch with him and Victor was glad to accept. As before, Lord Yuri did not join them.

Everything about this visit was both strange and ordinary, as though Victor was looking at the reflection in a curved mirror: the details were all in the reflection, but distorted ever so slightly as to render the complete reflection odd to look at.

Strangest of all was that when they finished having lunch and Sir Otabek left to speak with his husband Victor happened upon a gentleman he had never met before. This newcomer must have been a relative or friend of either Sir Otabek or of Lord Yuri, Victor decided: he moved too freely to be merely a visitor.

Upon hearing Victor’s approaching footsteps, this gentleman turned and gave Victor a wide-eyed look full of open admiration.

“Good day,” Victor said politely.

The gentleman inclined his head, possibly to acknowledge that yes, indeed, it was a good day, or to wish Victor the same.

“Sir Otabek is currently talking to Lord Yuri, but I can ask a servant to tell them you are here,” Victor offered.

The gentleman continued to study him.

Victor began to feel uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare. “I… you will forgive my disordered appearance,” he said, adjusting his hair self-consciously. “Ever since my husband left for Spain I regret to say that I have neglected to keep up with the latest fashions.”

“On the contrary,” the gentleman countered, taking Victor by the hand, “never have I beheld such a beautiful creature!” He made to kiss Victor’s hand, but Victor freed it gently, his discomfort growing with every passing minute.

“What is your name?” the gentleman asked.

Victor reddened a little as he gave his name. “I am the magician’s husband,” he added by way of explanation.

This made the gentleman grimace, as though the knowledge displeased him greatly.

Victor, who was convinced that the man had meant to do more than merely flatter him, stepped away. “I –” he began, ready to give an excuse for leaving right away.

The gentleman reached out and ran his fingers through Victor’s hair. “For someone as beautiful as you, I am prepared to fetch you anything your heart desires,” he offered.

Victor thought of Yuuri, far away and in danger, but forced himself to smile. “That is very kind of you,” he told the gentleman as politely and as firmly as he could, “but there is nothing I require. Forgive me.” He bowed, said his goodbyes and left the house.

Only when he arrived at his home in Hannover Square did he realize that he had forgotten to ask the name of the strange gentleman.

 _I think he meant well,_ Victor thought, stopping before a mirror and studying his own hair. _Next time I must remember to ask Sir Otabek what is the name of that gentleman with hair the colour of thistle-down._

 

The entire English army, no, all the armies of the world could not stop Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov. The strongest soldiers proved to be no match for him.

After downing two bottles’ worth of wine, Yuuri demanded that everyone dance with him. He clapped his hands and music began to play. It was unlike any music any human had heard for over three hundred years. All who heard it found it impossible to sit still and for a whole hour every man with a mile heeded its call and danced as best as they could. It was, without a doubt, a very strange sight to behold since the men moved through the steps of at least twenty different kinds of dances from the simplest imaginable to the most elaborate one any of them knew.

“No more!” they complained, dropping one by one on the ground as their feet continued to move against their will. “No more!”

Still Yuuri went on. Determined to not dance alone, he bewitched all the boots to come off the soldiers’ feet and keep him company.

The clouds parted and the moon shone down on the dancing magician, surrounded by several hundred pairs of boots all moving in synch. One pair stepped up to the magician and the silvery light from the moon took on the shape of a person.

Yuuri took the shape’s hands with a smile of his lips. “I know you!” he exclaimed and laughed. “Your name is –”

But the soldiers, who watched with a mix of astonishment and worry, trying to not lose sight of the pair of boots which belonged to them, never learned the name of the silvery vision because Yuuri passed out before he could finish his sentence and fell to the ground.

The silvery form vanished. The music stopped playing and all the boots went still. Chaos followed during which the soldiers did their best to get a pair of boots (and not always the one that had belonged to them).

 

Morning dawned and Yuuri awoke in the middle of a forest to the smell of something delicious cooking over a fire.

“Breakfast, sir?” Jeremy asked, helping him sit up.

Yuuri accepted his portion gratefully from one of the soldiers. He raised a spoon and froze with it midway to his lips. “What is it?” he asked, noticing for the first time how the people around him were watching him.

There was a look of open fascination on every face.

“How are you feeling, sir?” one of them asked.

Yuuri downed the contents of his spoon. “Well, thank you, and yourself?”

The soldier laughed and clapped Yuuri on the shoulder, making him spill half of his breakfast on the ground. “After a dance like that I woke up hurting all over! Better than the French, right, lads?”

There was a collective agreement at this.

Yuuri listened in astonishment, wondering what the man was talking about. Finally after an hour of puzzling words, jokes and odd glances thrown his way, all of which he completely failed to understand, he led Jeremy somewhere out of earshot of everyone else and asked him what they meant by their strange jokes and meaningful glances.

“They are referring to what you did last night, sir,” the servant replied.

“Last night?” Yuuri repeated. “What does that mean? I spoke with them after which I slept. What about those two actions would merit such strange attentions?”

The servant related the events of the night before, recounting every detail in a way that did credit to his memory. Yuuri paled and blushed by turns and when the servant finished his story Yuuri covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan.

“Do not despair, master, everyone thought it was great fun!” Jeremy assured him loyally.

Yuuri gave another groan. “What must they think of English magic now? I wanted to make my profession respectable and now the whole army will laugh at me. I might just as well have set up a tent and sold made up fortunes for a penny!”

Jeremy said nothing to this. He had no advice to give for such a situations and so he contented himself with waiting for his master to find his own solution for his predicament.

Yuuri waited the day out, doing his best to hide from everyone, hoping that if he did so everyone would soon forget. As it turned out, the soldiers remembered for a long time and many of them wrote letters to their relations back home about it. In England word spread about what the magician had done, but the accounts had all been so extraordinary and different from each other that all everyone could be certain of was that the magician had done something incredible.

Two days later Yuuri sat with the soldiers once more, eating with them. He was beginning to feel a little like a soldier himself.

As the sun set and the sky began to darken he asked the question that he had prepared the moment he had first laid eyes on the army.

“I came here to help fight the French with magic,” he began, “and I thought that, perhaps, you could help me by telling me what it is that you want.” His eye fell on the soldier he secretly considered the most sensible of them all, but at the sound of his question all the soldiers around him spoke up at once.

“I would like to meet the most beautiful woman in history!” one exclaimed.

“I want a magical pot of gold that is always full no matter how much gold I remove from it,” said another.

The man Yuuri had singled out continued to ponder over the question as all around him the soldiers asked for all manner of treasures and fantastical beasts.

Finally he spoke and everyone went silent to hear what he would say. “New boots,” he declared. “My boots get worn out really quickly on these awful Spanish roads.”

There was some laughter and several murmurs of agreement.

Yuuri looked thoughtful. “I think you are onto something,” he murmured.

“When will he get his new boots?” someone demanded and everyone burst out laughing. “Will you conjure them for him now?”

“I will do even better!” Yuuri promised and rose to his feet. He called his servant over and the two of them left under the soldiers’ collective stares.

“I doubt you will get your boots,” someone said and the words were followed by more laughter.

 

As soon as Yuuri returned to Ponto Negro he made straight for the Army’s Headquarters. Unlike the first time, he did not insist on seeing Lord Yakov, choosing instead to write a short note addressed to him, which he handed to one of the servants. He then returned with Jeremy to the house they had slept in before.

They were just sitting down to their dinner when a lieutenant burst into the house with orders from His Lordship that the magician come to him at once.

Yuuri abandoned his dinner and followed the lieutenant out of the house back to the Army’s Headquarters. On the way the lieutenant went on at length about the time it took him to find Yuuri, as though accusing him of hiding.

The magician said nothing to this. He had not been fortunate enough to have a choice of lodgings and settled in the only place that had been unoccupied – the smallest house at the furthest part of Ponte Negro.

The Army’s Headquarters were as full of officers as they had been the first time and, as before, they were all seated around a table. When Yuuri entered the big dining hall, the servants were clearing the table, carrying out the leftovers of a grand dinner. Yuuri watched with hungry eyes as one of them carried out a cooked duck.

He had to contend himself with a glass of wine and a few biscuits as he did his best to forget the dinner he had left behind to come here.

Lord Yakov ordered Yuuri to sit at his side as he questioned him. “Captain Mila tells me that you do magic by assigning a number to each word in the Bible and when you need a spell you merely recite the numbers you mean.”

“That is not what I said at all!” Mila protested.

Yuuri looked at His Lordship and then at her in surprise.

Mila was a very young captain (a fact which resulted in a great many jokes, some of which she had come up with herself). She had an open countenance and a pleasant smile she bestowed on everyone she spoke with. Later, when Yuuri got to know her better he wondered how a person with her good-humoured nature could possibly decide to serve in the army. In that moment, however, two of her features stood out to him – her young appearance and her red hair as bright as a flame.

“That sounds very complicated,” Yuuri responded. “What I do is much simpler than that. I fear that if magic required me to memorize numbers in the manner you describe, I would have made a very poor magician,” he admitted.

“How do you do it, then?” a different officer at the table asked.

Yuuri took in the table of curious faces and gave a faint smile, remembering all those time Victor had posed the same question to him. “I am sorry to say that I do now know the right words to describe it. It is like music playing in the back of my mind and I know what the next note will be. I cannot explain how I know this.” He could see that his explanation made no sense to them and made a second attempt. “There are many books of magic, all written in a language lost to us. I have succeeded in translating it. These books have spells – words to say and things to do to perform acts of magic. I follow them as one follows instructions.”

For a time everyone was silent as they considered the meaning of the words he had said.

“What would you do if another magician were to appear?” Captain Mila asked as though his answer had satisfied her.

Yuuri thought back to his time in London. Before he had arrived in that great city he had intended to take a pupil and train them. Instead, he had spent most of his time granting different requests. “I had hoped to find another practical magician,” he admitted. “I thought we could work together on translating all the books of magic we could find and on coming up with new spells.”

“Can a magician kill a man?” Lord Yakov asked sharply, startling Yuuri.

It was some time before Yuuri answered. He weighed his words carefully before saying them aloud. “I suppose a magician might, Your Lordship, but a gentleman never could.”

Lord Yakov nodded, as though the words had met with his approval. “Now, to matters. You wrote to me that you can make a road for me. What kind of road do you mean?”

“What kind of road would you like? I can make you a chalk road – it would be an easy one for the soldiers to follow,” the magician offered.

“A chalk road is no good,” Lord Yakov declared. “It is covered in dust and when it gets wet crossing it will become impossible. No, what I need is a good, stone road like the old Roman roads we have in England. Can you make me one, Yuuri?”

“I need a map to know where it should lead and I promise to have it ready by morning,” Yuuri promised.

“I will do better than that. I will give you a guide,” Lord Yakov told him. He gave his officers a long stern look. “Captain!” he barked and Mila’s face rearranged itself into a very pleased expression. “You know this terrain better than all of us.”

Not having many hours left until morning, Yuuri set off with Mila at once.

They barely made a dozen steps when Mila said, “I must admit that you do not resemble my idea of a magician at all.”

Yuuri smiled. He often heard people tell him this. “The first person who told me that was my husband Victor.” He cast his eyes down at his feet. “After those words he confessed that he loves me.”

Mila’s laughter rang out in the dark. “I would like to meet him.”

Yuuri’s face took on the expression he always got when he spoke about his husband. “There is no one in the world who can compare with Victor. Most people only see his beauty and miss his many excellent qualities.”

“Such is the way of the world,” Mila agreed sagely and laughed.

They spent the evening in pleasant conversation. Mila asked Yuuri many questions about him and his husband and Yuuri answered them all without hesitation.

At last they arrived to the very spot where Lord Yakov wanted a road.

Mila explained where the road needed to start and where it had to lead as best as the dark night allowed. “Can you perform your magic in the dark?” she asked once she finished.

“The dark is no hindrance for my magic,” Yuuri assured her. “Except that I cannot see where to put the road. Let us rest here until the sun rises. I will conceal us so that no one attacks us in our sleep,” Yuuri added.

This suited Mila just fine. She settled down on the ground, making herself a bed of leaves and branches while Yuuri worked his magic over the two of them. Once he finished he gathered leaves with a motion of his hand and lay down to rest.

 

Mila awoke from a pleasant dream about a dark-eyed beauty to find that the spot beside her was empty. She sat up sharply.

In the bleak light of dawn she made out Yuuri standing with his hands outstretched and his eyes closed. The ground trembled and went still.

Mila rose to her feet and saw a long stone road spreading out before her feet. “Amazing!” she breathed out.

An hour later Lord Yakov arrived on his horse and nodded in approval at the sight of the road. He walked a short way down the road and then returned. He told Yuuri everything he liked about the road and then pointed out all of the road’s flaws.

“Once we cross it you will make the road vanish,” His Lordship ordered. “I have no wish to make fighting us easier for the French.”

Yuuri bowed and promised to do so.

 

Before long, word spread across Spain of the magician’s roads that appeared in the blink of an eye and disappeared just as suddenly. When the French wished to follow after Lord Yakov’s army and happened upon a road that promised to take them in the right direction the boy from the nearby village that they had asked to show them the way said,

“We do not use that road. It is the magician’s road. When it vanishes it will take the souls of all the people upon it to hell!”

The Frenchman did not argue and took a longer route through the forest, avoiding the road as best as they could.

When word of this reached Lord Yakov he was exceedingly pleased. The road the Frenchmen had avoided was an old ordinary one that the Romans had built many centuries ago. The Frenchmen lost valuable time in avoiding it and, as a result, Lord Yakov’s army had time to move into a more favourable position.

Two days later he was studying his map and listening to his men talk. They were faced with a new problem this time: they needed to travel very fast through a forest.

“Bring the magician!” Lord Yakov ordered and waited until Yuuri entered his tent. “We need to be in this village by sundown,” he told the magician. “This forest is slowing us down. Move the forest, Yuuri, if you would.”

In the weeks that followed the magician altered the course of rivers, moved forests and even shifted cities over to aid in Lord Yakov’s campaigns.

Much later, when the Spanish government could reclaim their country at last they discovered to their astonishment that parts of it had become completely unrecognizable.


	7. Seven Dead Neapolitans

Every day Victor would come to pay Lord Yuri a visit and every day the gentleman with the thistle-down hair would meet Victor in that house. Sometimes they met as Victor was about to leave and other times – just as he arrived, but never with others around. Every single time Victor would speak to the gentleman as though they were old friends and only when they separated and Victor left Lord Yuri’s house did he remember that, once again, he had failed to ask for his name.

Victor wondered what Yuuri would say if he knew of these meetings. Would he get jealous? Victor could not say for certain.

The gentleman – whatever his relation to Lord Yuri and Sir Otabek – very obviously had a great opinion of himself and the sound of his own voice. He could go on for hours about all manner of strange objects all of which sounded as if they only existed in his imagination. One time he told Victor about a music tree, which bore sheet music instead of fruits or leaves. Another time he described a tiger in great detail. Always he would end by offering to bring this or that object.

Victor, who had no use for tigers and music trees, declined as politely as he could.

Three months passed after Yuuri left for the war when a big auction was announced of a rich lord’s estate. The man had spent his life collecting antiques and rare items. After his death, as so often happens, all of his earthly possessions went to a younger man who had no use for them other than to sell them all and thus turn them into something which he took great pleasure in collecting – money.

Four beautiful books of magic were discovered in his collection. Once this became publicly known, Victor spent two whole days visiting friends and family to borrow money so he could buy these magnificent books for Yuuri. These were – _The Language of Birds_ , _The Anatomy of a Minotaur_ , and two books the titles of which were unknown and impossible to translate.

On the day of the auction Victor arrived, looking more splendid than ever and ready for a battle, but no one dared to bid against the magician’s husband and he secured all four books for Yuuri.

As he took the last one in his hands, Victor ran a careful hand over the book’s cover and raised his eyes to the heavens with gratitude. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Every person in the room watched, mesmerised by the sight of Victor’s joy. He pressed his handkerchief to his wet cheek to catch the tear.

Someone called out Victor’s name and he rose from his seat, clutching all four books to his chest. In his haste, he failed to notice his handkerchief slip out of his hand and fall onto his seat.

A gentleman stepped up to the place Victor had vacated and picked the handkerchief up. He folded it up with care and slid it into the pocket of his jacket. He smiled and his hair the colour of thistle-down shone in the light of the room.

 

A war cannot be fought blindly and, contrary to what many might think or say, it is not as straightforward as two armies attacking each other. Any army, be it English, French or German relies on informants. One of these in Lord Yakov’s army was Lieutenant Phichit Chulanont. He was a brave and very daring fellow who had delivered many useful reports to His Lordship that had helped win more than one battle. It was only to be expected that the French army was eager to capture him.

Phichit’s luck ran out one late evening when he crept too close to one of the enemy’s camps and his bright red uniform (of which he was exceedingly proud) caught the eye of one of the soldiers. He signalled to the others and they ambushed the lieutenant before he could realize what had befallen him.

When news of his capture reached Lord Yakov he knew at once that the French would demand a large sum of money for his return.

“Bring me the magician!” he ordered, determined that not a single coin will be paid to the French.

Yuuri was sent for at once. As soon as he was before His Lordship the situation was explained to him in as few words as possible.

After Lord Yakov finished speaking the magician took some time to consider all he had heard. “I believe I know how to rescue him,” he declared at last.

“What do you need?” Lord Yakov asked. “I cannot spare you many of my soldiers, but I should think I can find you a hundred, or so.”

There was a hint of amusement on Yuuri’s face at the sound of that offer. “I can do with less. A dozen soldiers and Captain Mila will be all the aid I will require.”

Lord Yakov gave orders that Yuuri was to be given anything that he asked for.

 

The morning was a pleasant one and it promised to turn into the kind of warm summer day when the sun beat mercilessly down and fighting anyone was impossible.

Captain Mila and Yuuri walked side by side, led by the man who had brought the news of Lieutenant Phichit’s capture. Behind them several men were carrying a coffin.

Soldiers are a superstitious lot. When Yuuri told them there was some equipment he required that he needed them to carry and they saw the coffin many of them uttered a prayer and a few crossed themselves.

Captain Mila who knew that Yuuri always did everything for a reason and had learned not to question him and his methods laughed like someone who found the joke very amusing.

The sun was high up in the sky when they spotted a group of soldiers leading their captive.

“Yuuri?” Mila asked. “What do we do now?”

“I need a diversion,” he told her. “You will attack them and I will stay here and use my magic.” He looked thoughtful for a while and finally gave a satisfied nod. “Do not capture the lieutenant. I only need you to act as though you are trying to capture him. Do you understand?”

Everyone answered that they had when, in fact, they wondered what the magician would do.

The captain gave a few orders and the group charged down the hill.

What followed was a fierce battle, of the kind that pleased Captain Mila most. The Frenchmen put up a brave fight and defended their prisoner as though their lives depended upon it. They beat off the attack, losing only two of their men, and escaped.

Mila ordered her soldiers to stop, hoping they had done all that the magician required. She stared after the retreating soldiers. The figure in the bright red English uniform was still among them.

She held her breath, waiting for magic to steal him away, but still the figure remained.

Mila gritted her teeth and pulled her sword out again. She was about to charge after them when one of the soldiers called out to her. She turned her head and saw Yuuri sitting on the hill with someone in a bright red uniform.

Throwing a quick glance at the enemy vanishing in the distance, she rushed up the hill to find Yuuri and Lieutenant Phichit having lunch together.

“Hello, Captain!” he greeted her with all the enthusiasm of one who had just regained their freedom. “Come join us!” He cast a curious glance at Yuuri. “Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was just explaining to me how I appeared here and who the French are taking away for questioning.”

Eager to hear the explanation herself, Mila settled down to listen to Yuuri’s story. The rest of the soldiers gathered around them without a word, curious to hear the magician’s story of what he had done.

 

The French, proud of their small victory and especially proud of having successfully captured such a valuable prisoner, marched onwards to the next city where they presented the man to their captain.

“We have Phichit Chulanont, sir,” one man said, stepping forward. “He has not said a word the whole way here, but I trust we can make him speak.”

“Ah, lieutenant!” the captain exclaimed and stepped forward. He reached out to take the man by the hand only to find that the hand had come lose. He was about to apologize for breaking the prisoner’s arm when his eye fell on the rest of the prisoner and his mouth opened soundlessly.

People gathered in the small sun-lit square and looked on in amazement as the prisoner tumbled on the ground where he broke up into several pieces. But these were not the pieces of a person – they were all bits of clay, as though the lieutenant had been made up of a dozen or so flower pots of different sizes, all of them dressed in one big red uniform.

 

Mila laughed as she recounted the story to Lord Yakov over dinner. The man nodded in approval and turned his attention to Phichit, eager to hear his report. What had he learned? What had he seen? His Lordship wished to know everything.

Outside the tent Yuuri sat on a log and read Ormskirk’s _Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds_. He found one passage particularly puzzling.

_Place the moon at his eyes and her whiteness shall devour the false sights the deceiver has placed there._

_Place a swarm of bees at his ears. Bees love truth and will destroy the deceiver’s lies._

_Place salt in his mouth lest the deceiver attempt to delight him with the taste of honey or disgust him with the taste of ashes._

_Nail his hand with an iron nail so that he shall not raise it to do the deceiver’s bidding._

_Place his heart in a secret place so that all his desires shall be his own and the deceiver shall find no hold there._

_Memorandum. The colour red may be found beneficial._

                  

He had translated the passage several days ago and had spent a lot of time over many of the words, trying to find the best equivalent in English. This was a spell against deception, that much was obvious, but how was it supposed to work? How was a magician supposed to fetch the moon? The instruction about salt was easy enough, but while the instruction about bees was hard to understand, to nail someone’s hand was not something Yuuri wished to do.

“Yuuri!” someone called and he set the book aside to inquire what His Lordship required of him this time.

His Lordship sat with his officers standing around him. “Yuuri,” he began, “it seems to me that we will need your services again.”

Yuuri bowed to show that he was ready.

“Phichit tells me that a group of Neapolitan deserters succeeded in securing one of the French army’s cannons. Not wishing to return home without their cousins, or brothers, who are also serving in the French army, they sent word out to them all, telling them of their plans to sell these cannons and return home with the money. They are of the opinions that both sides will pay handsomely for cannons. It matters little to them who they sell it to. They are getting ready to send word to us and to the French to see which of us will pay the higher price. The French must not get these cannons,” Lord Yakov concluded, rising to his feet. “I need you to find them before the Neapolitans sell them!”

The eye of every person in the tent was on Yuuri. Phichit, who had not met the magician before was even more curious to see what Yuuri would do. He had questioned the magician all about the magic he had done for His Lordship on their way here.

“Your Lordship,” Yuuri began, “the magic of finding items and people has been lost for many years and all my attempts to recreate it have been futile so far. I can conjure visions of the countryside, but the magic is imprecise and the wrong one to use in this case.”

“Do you have a better idea, Yuuri?” Lord Yakov asked.

Yuuri faltered. He caught Mila’s eye and did his best to gather his courage. “Perhaps your men can capture someone and question them?” he suggested.

The general raised his eyebrows. “We will certainly try,” he promised, “as I expect you will as well.”

The magician hastened to assure him that he would do so without delay.

Several times His Lordship had made demands that Yuuri had described as impossibly to satisfy. Each time he had been forced to explain why such-and-such an idea was impossible, often because the magic required was lost. Lord Yakov, who had adopted the habit of demanding the impossible from his men did not understand why the magician had to be treated any differently. Yuuri was thus forced to invent magic of his own to satisfy the general’s demands.

Still, Yuuri preferred to refer to his books whenever possible.

 

That evening His Lordship summoned the magician so he could be present when his officers made their reports.

“Have you captured any prisoners?” he asked each officer once they finished. All of them replied that, yes, they had, but that these prisoners were all French.

When all the officers had been questioned one of them spoke up, “There are _dead_ Neapolitans in the field out there.”

All eyes turned to the magician expectantly.

Yuuri went deathly pale at the sound of those words. He fidgeted and did his best to keep an amiable look on his face, but all he managed was a grimace.

“Well?” Lord Yakov demanded. “I have no wish to lose more time. Will you use your magic to help us?”

“Have someone gather the dead Neapolitans and keep them somewhere safe,” Yuuri ordered. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled as he spoke. “Tell them to make sure that nothing is done to the bodies. I will try summoning visions, perhaps that will help us after all.”

Jeremy brought him a large silver dish filled with water and Yuuri whispered a spell, tapping the surface of the water with the tip of his finger.

To be successful all magic required precision. Without the knowledge of where to look, Yuuri had spent the whole day hunting through the countryside as he tried to devise the best way to say “show me the Neapolitans who found a cannon”. Now, before all the officers and His Lordship, Yuuri was successful at last. The water’s surface changed to show several men in the right uniforms standing around a cannon.

The officers of the English army gathered around Yuuri to take a look.

Yuuri did his best to see if there was a town with a recognizable church nearby, or a mountain that would help determine where the Neapolitans were. As he watched the deserters speak he wondered if there was any other clue he could search for.

“Is it possible for us to hear what they are saying?” Mila suggested. “Perhaps that will provide us with the information we need.”

Yuuri hummed and tapped the water with his finger.

The tent filled with the soldiers’ voices, but Yuuri could not understand a word of what they said.

“Is that Italian?” someone asked.

“They are saying how tired they are and how much they miss their lovers and their families,” Mila translated helpfully.

The other officers expressed their disappointment at this.

Lord Yakov gave out more orders, sending them all off, except for Captain Mila and Yuuri who were told to study the vision closely in case it told them what they needed to know.

But the soldiers refused to yield any useful information. It was as though they suspected that someone was listening to them and had resolved to make no allusion to what the nearest town was. After an hour of this Mila and Yuuri gave in to the inevitable and Yuuri dissolved the illusion with a wave of his hand.

“Find me those cannons,” Lord Yakov insisted. “They _must_ be found!”

Yuuri returned to his books and searched through their pages for something that could be of use to them.

Lord Yakov sent men out to search on foot, but after a whole day of futile searching he summoned Yuuri and repeated his order.

“Bring me the Neapolitans,” Yuuri said. His shoulders were lowered and his voice took on a tone of resignation, as though he had accepted an awful task.

Lord Yakov, Yuuri, Mila and Phichit gathered with two other officers in a small clearing where the soldiers brought out the dead bodies, which were just starting to undergo that dreadful change that awaits all corpses.

Yuuri shuddered at the dreadful sight. He closed his eyes and whispered something. Then, producing a knife from his pocket, he made a little cut on the palm of his hand and dripped blood over the face of each of the corpses, whispering as he did so.

Not a single person moved. Not a single animal made a noise. The world held its breath.

Yuuri opened his eyes and uttered more words in a tongue that was foreign to everyone present. In the silence his voice rang out loudly and made everyone give an involuntary shudder.

With a loud gasp, the first Neapolitan sat up. For a while he breathed in air with loud rasping noises and, when his lungs were full at last, he spoke. The other bodies soon started to move as well.

“Good God!” Phichit exclaimed. “What language is that?”

“That is not Italian!” Mila agreed.

“I believe it is one of the dialects of Hell,” Yuuri said, turning away.

“They certainly learned it fast!” Mila observed, but Yuuri was silent.

Lord Yakov had concerns of his own. “How will we question them? Can you speak this language?” This question was posed to Yuuri.

Yuuri turned and spat into the mouth of each of the soldiers. At once they began to speak their native, Earth language.

Once again Mila played the role of interpreter, asking the questions Lord Yakov posed to her and then translating the answers.

Yuuri walked away. He found a stone in the forest and dropped onto it. His heart beat fast with terror. He joined his hands and lowered his head onto them.

His mind turned to Lord Yuri and he wondered what terrors that man had to deal with. What had the gentleman with the thistle-down hair done?

“That was amazing! And terrible!” a voice said at his ear and he raised his head to see Phichit standing before him.

The lieutenant sat down on the ground beside him. “I cannot imagine what I would do, if I had the power over life and death,” he admitted.

Yuuri stared ahead. What had he done with his powers? Doomed a person and served the government. There had been no great feats of magic, worthy of the Aubergine magicians. It would not have mattered if he had remained in Yorkshire and only done magic for his husband.

His heart ached at the thought of Victor. What was he doing in that moment? Was he missing Yuuri this much?

“Bring me…” he began in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat and made a second attempt. “Bring me a dish with water, please.”

Phichit moved to stand, but a group of men came upon them then and surrounded them from all sides.

Yuuri rose to his feet.

The dead Neapolitans closed in on him.

He tensed and opened his mouth, ready to defend himself. One of the soldiers slid a hand over Yuuri’s shoulder. Another caressed Yuuri’s hair.

“What are they doing?” Yuuri stammered out.

They said something, but he could not understand a single word.

“Mila…” he whispered.

She was before him, giving him a worried look. “They are begging you to restore them to life,” she said. “They are terrified of… going back.”

“I cannot…” Yuuri told her and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I cannot restore them to life.” He grabbed his head and ran, breaking out of the circle. He sped through the forest blindly, not caring where he would end up.

When he felt himself weakening he stopped and gave in to his tears. Was it possible that there was a limit to what magic could do? Or was this merely the limit of his own abilities?

His soul shook. He clutched his hands to his chest and thought of Victor. This time the image of his husband refused to bring him comfort. What if he could not protect him from harm? What would happen to him then?

“Yuuri!” a distant voice called. “Yuuri!”

Phichit ran to his side. “There you are! I was starting to think that you had concealed yourself by magical means!” Phichit produced his handkerchief and gently rubbed the tears off Yuuri’s face. “What would Victor say to us, if he found out that we made you so miserable?”

The tears came faster now. Yuuri could not utter a word, but he knew that no words were needed. Phichit let him go on crying until there were no more tears left to cry.

He lowered his head onto his hands and sat in silence, willing himself not to think. For a time he was lost to the world.

The sound of Mila’s voice brought him back out of himself. “His Lordship gave orders to dispose of the bodies,” she was saying.

Yuuri straightened up and turned his head. They were too far away for any sound to reach them and he knew then that he lacked the courage to go and discover for himself what they were doing.

Mila and Phichit spoke of unrelated matters. They exchanged amusing stories. They spoke about Spain as it had been at a time before they had to fight a war in it. Yuuri hardly heard a word. He knew that the conversation was for his benefit, but he could not bring himself to be interested in it.

At last he sat up and said, “I cannot fight in this war. I must return home.”

They protested at this. Both of them were certain that Yuuri would not be granted permission to leave, but Yuuri kept on insisting.

To their surprise, Lord Yakov accepted Yuuri’s request. “I am granting you leave,” he declared, “but I expect you to return.”

Yuuri gave his word and left.

 

Day was giving way to evening when Victor returned home. In that moment all was misery and despair. Lord Yuri had gone on at great length about how weary life was and after months of loneliness Victor was beginning to agree with him.

Out of an old habit, he stopped before a mirror and caught the eye of his reflection. There was a dejected air about him.

A servant ran out, drawing his attention away from the mirror.

“The master!” she exclaimed.

Victor, in his dejected state, became convinced that there were bad news from Yuuri. He straightened up, refusing to crumble just yet, and demanded, “What about him?”

The maid made a vague gesture and trembled as she struggled for words and a stranger stepped out of the room behind her.

Victor felt his knees tremble under him and gripped a table for support. The stranger had Yuuri’s looks and Yuuri’s voice, but not Yuuri’s usual energy. He had a dejected air, as though he had just signed a shameful surrender.

“I am home,” he sounded apologetic, as though he felt he should have remained behind.

Victor came to his senses and ran into Yuuri’s arms. “Oh, Yuuri!” he exclaimed right before catching a kiss.

 

The next morning they sat at breakfast together and Victor could almost pretend that Yuuri had never left. He had spent a whole hour before a mirror, doing his best to remember everything he had done before to beautify himself. Now, under Yuuri’s unwavering stare, he worried that he had not done enough.

Victor lowered his eyes. “Do not stare at me so, Yuuri. You are making it impossible for me to keep my countenance!” Victor raised his eyes once more and met Yuuri’s open and honest gaze.

“How could I have forgotten how beautiful you are?” Yuuri whispered in fascination.

Victor could not keep a smile off his face at this. He placed his hands over Yuuri’s and watched Yuuri take each hand and press a kiss into each palm.

“I missed you very dearly,” they told each other and laughed.

“My love,” Victor said, forgetting about his breakfast and shifting his chair around the table to be closer to Yuuri, “your hair is all in disarray.” He reached out a hesitant hand and brushed his fingers through Yuuri’s locks.

Yuuri waited for Victor to ring for a servant to bring his hair comb, but Victor continued to use his fingers.

The two of them were the kind of couple that was content in the company of each other and no one else. That day they resolved, without even speaking to each other about it, that they would not go out anywhere. No one knew about Yuuri’s return and Yuuri wished to keep people from discovering him. They spent the day telling each other what they had done in the other’s absence. They received no visitors and not once did Yuuri open a book of magic.

“Yuuri, do you know the name of the man who lives with Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri?” Victor asked, remembering the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

Yuuri frowned at this question. “I do not believe I have met him,” He admitted. He wondered if he should know the man’s name. “I did not know that someone lives with them.”

“Perhaps he lives elsewhere,” Victor conceded. “He visits very often, so I took him for a relative or a very close friend.” He went on grooming Yuuri’s hair. “He is a very eccentric man, so perhaps that is why Sir Otabek never speaks of him.”

“Eccentric?” Yuuri repeated. “How so?”

“Every time we meet he offers to bring me gifts,” Victor explained. He released Yuuri and sat back. “Once he offered to bring me a tiger. Another time he talked about a music tree.”

“A music tree?” Yuuri echoed and gave Victor a look of alarm.

“Yes,” Victor confirmed with a nod. “He tells me that it is a tree that grows sheet music instead of leaves. He insists that the music is unlike anything I have ever heard.” Victor laughed. “I do believe the man is either very fanciful, or perhaps he is a magician?”

Yuuri said nothing. He wondered how a magician could appear in Sir Otabek’s house without him ever hearing about it.

“Perhaps he is merely boasting,” Victor continued in soothing tones. “I remember how you boasted when you tried to win my heart!”

The colour rose to Yuuri’s cheeks. “That was no boast! I could do everything I promised!”

Victor laughed. “You did,” he admitted. He did his best to put on a serious face as he said the words that followed, “I do believe this man is in love with me.” He watched Yuuri carefully, trying to guess by his expression what he thought of that.

“As am I,” Yuuri whispered so quietly that had Victor been sitting a little further away from him he would not have heard those words.

“Do not be jealous,” Victor insisted, enveloping Yuuri in his arms and pressing his nose against Yuuri’s cheek. “You know I only love you.”

Yuuri pulled Victor closer. “I cannot be jealous of a man whose name you do not know.”

The sound of Victor’s laughter filled the room.

 

Yuuri thought back to their conversation when he paid a visit to Sir Otabek the next day. He wondered if he would see this stranger who seemed to be in love with Victor. But whether because he was away on other business, or whether because he had no wish to meet the husband of the man he was in love with, Yuuri did not see him.

He had an idea then of asking Sir Otabek about this mysterious gentleman. But how could he describe a man he had never met himself and who Victor had barely described himself? For that matter, what did it matter who the man was if his odd promises had provided Victor with a source of innocent amusement in Yuuri’s absence and no harm had come from it?

In the days that followed the gentleman did not appear to either of them and the incident slipped from Yuuri’s mind.

 

Night claimed London once more and Lord Yuri found himself in the Castle of Lost Hope, dancing with the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. As always, Lord Yuri did his best to keep his behaviour in check so as to not anger the faerie.

This required a great deal of self-control on his part. Whenever he found himself in Lost Hope he moved and spoke like one who was trapped in a dream. He felt slow and dull-witted. Like his strange tales, this was also a part of his enchantment. Afterwards, whenever he returned home he felt how dull and dreadful the world about him was. Only in Faerie one was truly alive, only in Faerie were the colours bright and the music sweet. London was but a pale shadow of a city.

That night as they went around in the dance he heard the gentleman muttering to himself. “The wretched magician is back! Must he always stay in my way?”

Lord Yuri circled him and wondered if he was expected to speak.

Still the faerie went on, forgetting about his partner’s presence. “My enemies are all conspiring against me! I must act before they do! I will catch them unawares and their loss will plunge them deep into despair with no hope and no way of escape!”

The music played on, the dance continued and Lord Yuri wondered if there was any way he could interfere with the gentleman’s plans. He had no magical powers of his own. He knew very little about faeries. What could he possibly do against someone as powerful as the gentleman with the thistle-down hair?

His only hope lay in warning the magician, but each time he made an attempt to describe his predicament he spoke nothing but nonsense. The experience had made him lose all hope of speaking sensibly ever again.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair released Lord Yuri’s hand and walked away as though he had remembered about a pressing engagement elsewhere.

 

Lord Yuri woke up in his own bed in London. He sat up sharply and his gaze wandered around the room. After ascertaining where he was, he let out a sigh of relief and reclined back onto his pillows.

How many times had he woken up exhausted as he was now? How many hours had he spent in that dreadful place and how many more awaited him?

He thought of the magician, happy and comfortable in his home and clutched the blanket with both hands. He would do nothing, he decided. The magician did not deserve his help.


	8. Other Magicians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In those times, instead of saying “son-in-law”, people merely said “son”. Apologies for any confusion!

The empty road went on for miles with hills lining it on either side. At times another road would cross it and one or two houses would break the monotony of the landscape, but for most of the journey the houses retreated to leave that duty to the trees. Overhead the sky took on a washed-out colour that could not even be called grey. No one came the other way and a traveller who stayed on this road for too long would soon forget that somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, there were other people leading their own lives.

Guang Hong Ji and Leo de la Iglesia were travelling down this road together. After witnessing Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’s success in London the men had resolved to search through all of England for more magicians. They went about this task dutifully, stopping at every town and village and making their inquiries of everyone they met. News found a way of travelling ahead of them and often when they entered a town every single one of its inhabitants already knew them as the two men in search for magicians. More than once they were met with liars who wished to take advantage of them, but not once did they find a true practical magician among them.

“It is hopeless,” Mr. de la Iglesia muttered. “Perhaps matters are truly as they appear and Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov is the only practical magician in all of England, no in all of the world.”

“I heard that Napoleon sought for a magician in France, but with no luck,” Mr. Ji told him. He regarded his friend with a touch of pride, “We, on the other hand, succeeded in finding one magician!”

“That is to say that _you_ did,” Mr. de la Iglesia reminded him.

After a lengthy pause, Mr. Ji threw a cautions look at his friend. “I confess that I have not abandoned hope that I would one day become a practical magician. I wrote to Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov and he was kind enough to explain several simple spells to me.” He lowered his eyes and clutched his hands tighter. “Alas, I have not succeeded in performing a single act of magic.”

Mr. de la Iglesia regretted then that he could not provide his friend with the reassurance he so obviously required. He was no good at telling lies and in that moment he wished more than ever that he could. He wished he could tell Mr. Ji that he was certain that very soon he would become a practical magician himself, but – if truth be told – Mr. de la Iglesia had become convinced in his mind that there was only one magician in all the world and that matters would remain this until Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’s death.

So he did the only thing he could: he listened to Mr. Ji’s stories of the Raven King and how he brought magic to England and nodded a long as though he was agreeing with the tale.

 

There was an air of melancholy about Yuuri that had not been there before. At times Victor was convinced that it went beyond mere melancholy and that there was guilt there as well.

What had happened in the war? Victor succeeded in getting most of the details out of his husband, but there was one terrible deed that weighed too heavily on his mind to be recounted. Before long Victor became convinced that it was somehow tied to his return. Perhaps it was the reason he returned home while the army continued to fight.

Evening claimed London once more. Yuuri sat in the library, his eyes on the book open before him. Victor’s gaze remained fixed on his husband and he was certain that Yuuri had not read a single word in the last quarter of an hour. How long would he go on staring unseeingly at the page before him?

Yuuri had dismissed all his visitors early, alluding to urgent work that needed to be done. To the best of Victor’s knowledge, Yuuri had no urgent work, but he played along with this deception: Yuuri needed to rest now more than ever.

The bell of a nearby church began to strike the hour, startling Yuuri out of his reverie.

Victor rose to his feet and joined his husband. “My love,” he said, putting his arms around Yuuri, “you must be famished! I will give the order for the servants to prepare dinner.”

For a while Yuuri looked lost and uncertain.

“You are working too hard,” Victor told him. “What will England do if her only magician feels ill?”

Yuuri made as if to protest, but he reconsidered and accepted the truth of Victor’s words instead.

Victor rang for a servant and made arrangements for dinner before returning to the subject of their conversation.

“My love,” he said, lowering himself to his knees before Yuuri, “ever since your return, you have not been yourself. Would it not be best to spend some time in our home in Yorkshire? I am convinced that, given a bit of time, you can recover your good spirits.”

Yuuri did not argue against this proposal. He knew in his own heart that the war had changed him. At night he often dreamt of those seven Neapolitans. He heard their pleas in their mother tongue and awoke with a shudder, convinced that he would find them in his bedchamber. Returning to Yorkshire would raise his spirits, he was certain of it.

Leaving London meant that he would place himself out of reach of all the ministers and other visitors who constantly plagued Yuuri with their requests, some of which he felt would be best solved by non-magical means.

He gave his consent and Victor, his spirits raised by the prospect of this journey, talked over dinner about their home, reminiscing wistfully about their garden, but Yuuri – it must be admitted – hardly heard half of Victor’s words and, so, it was some time before he realized that Victor had stopped speaking.

“Forgive me, dear heart,” Yuuri apologized, reaching out for Victor’s hand, “My thoughts were elsewhere. I, too, long to behold our home and see both your parents and mine.”

A wistful smile appeared on Victor’s face and he clutched Yuuri’s hand in return. “And see once more that place where you confessed to me,” he added.

Colour rose to Yuuri’s cheeks. “Yes.”

It will, I suspect, surprise the reader to know that neither Yuuri’s, nor Victor’s parents ever visited their sons in London. For very different reasons, they preferred to remain in the countryside and did not venture even once to the capital. All four parents were completely immune to the charms of big cities and wrote constantly to their children, imploring them to come visit them in the countryside. In vain did Victor write long letters, describing the pleasures of London – they persisted in not coming, always finding one excuse or another for staying where they were.

It took Yuuri and Victor a week to arrange their affairs for a trip back to Yorkshire.

All preparations complete, Victor, driven by a strong sense of duty, paid a visit to Lord Yuri the day before they were meant to set out for their home to tell him about his departure.

The news of Victor leaving dealt Lord Yuri a heavy blow. For a while he sat in silence, looking as though he was about to beg Victor to stay, but then he turned away and whispered, “It is better this way.” He had spoken so softly that Victor had not heard him.

“Please forgive me,” Victor apologized. “I take great pleasure in visiting you and I am sorry that we must be separated for some time. I do not expect to be away for long and, perhaps, a day may come when you will be well enough to go out into society once more and we will meet somewhere, such as a ball.”

“A ball?” Lord Yuri exclaimed. “Why would you wish for such a misfortune?” His eyes flashed terribly. “That you and I should meet at a ball?”

Victor apologized for the slip of his tongue and cursed his forgetfulness. _How could I have gotten so carried away that I forgot about his hatred of balls?_

Lord Yuri cursed time and again as Victor did his best to soothe him.

“A ball!” Lord Yuri spat in distaste.

The door opened, interrupting Lord Yuri before he could say more and both men turned their heads to see who the visitor was.

Yuuri stood in the doorway with the air of someone who did not dare to enter the room. “Good day, Your Lordship,” he said respectfully and gave a formal bow.

Lord Yuri straightened up. “What do you want from me, magician?” he demanded.

Yuuri regarded him with a mixture of guilt and pity on his face. “I am putting all of my efforts into finding a way to help you,” he told Lord Yuri. “I have not forgotten and I promise that I will succeed in the end.”

Lord Yuri rose with a cold laugh on his lips. “I have no need for your help!” Lord Yuri declared. “You have helped me enough!” He crossed the room with several bold strides and struck Yuuri across the face.

For a few moments everyone was silent, even Lord Yuri did not move, as though amazed by what he himself had done.

Finally he gathered all his courage and was able to speak at last. “Do not trouble yourself with returning here!” His voice was full of scorn and mockery. He rounded angrily on Victor who rushed to his husband’s side. “That includes you as well! I have no wish to see either of you! Do not write to me! Do not come here! I am tired of your visits! Do you understand?”

Victor pressed his fingers gently to Yuuri’s cheek where Lord Yuri had struck him. The skin on Yuuri’s face was turning red. “What you need is some water…” he whispered, trailing his fingers over the markings.

Yuuri protested faintly at this, but Victor remained firm. He called out for a servant and ordered her to bring him a small basin of water so he could treat Yuuri’s face.

There was a long silence as Victor held his husband’s head with one hand and pressed the wet handkerchief with the other.

Yuuri attempted to protest a second time, but only succeeded in uttering one word before giving in.

Victor fused over him, first caressing the stricken cheek with his handkerchief and then with his kisses.

The magician’s eye fell on Lord Yuri. For a moment as brief as the blink of an eye there was a strong emotion in the young man’s face, one that Yuuri struggled to put a name to, but it was soon replaced with anger and the young man rose to demand that they leave at once.

Both visitors hurried out, taking the basin of water with them and shutting the door behind them as they went.

Lord Yuri dropped into his armchair and tears rolled down his face.

He had long ago accepted that the magician could not save him. There was no doubt in the young man’s mind that the magician was working as hard as he claimed he was, but he could not understand why he persisted in risking his own life and freedom by continuing to do so.

 _Go!_ Lord Yuri willed them with his mind. _Forget about me! There are others who can benefit from your help! Do not waste your time attempting to do what is beyond your abilities!_

 

A traveller in a carriage is at the complete mercy of the roads. Try as one might, one will still feel every hole, every bump on the road. Despite the sorry state of English roads, Yuuri succeeded in sleeping all through the journey.

He had stayed awake until the sky began to turn lighter and Victor entered the library to tell him that everything was ready for their departure. Yuuri had been very set on doing all that he could before leaving London.

Victor did not wake him until they had to stop to switch horses.

He, himself, spent most of the journey with his eyes on the countryside outside their carriage. His thoughts turned to the eccentric gentleman, who he had not seen after Yuuri’s return to London. Knowing it was improper to leave without saying goodbye, he asked Sir Otabek to pass the message along to the gentleman. The minister gave him a look of surprise after which he assured Victor that he was not acquainted with a single gentleman who matched this description. Victor wondered what Yuuri would say to that when he found out.

 _How silly of me!_ he reprimanded himself during the journey. _I should have asked Lord Yuri if this was an acquaintance of his._ He thought of the man’s anger and the cold manner in which they had parted.

Victor saw it for what it was: Lord Yuri considered his situation beyond help and was embarrassed to have someone spend so much effort on his behalf.

 _He has a very kind heart,_ Victor thought, _much like my Yuuri._ At this thought, he brought his husband closer, moving his head to a spot where he would be more comfortable.

The magician slept on and Victor, lulled by his husband’s steady breathing, dozed off as well.

 

Their return to their home in Yorkshire made both men feel as though they had never left. Everything was just as they had left it – the rooms, the rolling hills behind their home and even the smells.

Victor made a thorough survey of the house, making certain that all their possessions were returned to their proper places, including Yuuri’s books, and slipped out into the garden behind the house, leaving the rest of the duties for later.

A soft evening descended on the hedges and rosebushes as everything that could possibly bloom filled the air with a sweet smell.

Victor stopped before a dense rosebush. Here it still was.

 

_The roses were all in full bloom. At the very front two flowers grew together, in the deepest red he had ever seen. Victor admired it, his mind full of thoughts of himself and Yuuri._

_The sound of footsteps made him turn with a smile. He recognized that walk. He would recognize it anywhere._

_Yuuri rushed down the pathway and Victor gathered all his courage._

_He would have to confess his feelings now, he told himself. For too long the two of them spoke with glances and deep sighs. He had to tell Yuuri everything and propose at last._

_Yuuri stopped several steps away and the colour rose to his cheeks. “Those roses suit you.”_

_Victor lowered his eyes. “Forgive my intrusion. Your servants told me you were busy with your studies, so I took the liberty –”_

_Yuuri’s hand closed over Victor’s, silencing him. “My house is always open to you,” he declared, “as is my heart.”_

_Victor did not dare raise his eyes. Always so bold, now he was too frightened to look into Yuuri’s face and see what expression it bore._

_“That is…” Yuuri began hesitantly. “I meant to say that my heart… I love you. Never have I felt as strongly for anyone else as I do for you.”_

_Victor stared on in amazement. The shock of Yuuri professing his love threw his mind into a state of confusion. He watched Yuuri reach out towards the roses and hold his hands above them, making them grow long stems without thorns. On Yuuri’s command, the roses wove themselves into a crown which he raised and held out to Victor._

_“I hope you will not object to this gift,” the magician said._

_Victor gave a curt nod and Yuuri lowered the crown over his head. Victor placed his hands over Yuuri’s as the meaning of Yuuri’s words sank in his consciousness. Finally he understood just what Yuuri had told him, slipped a hand under his chin and tilted his face up to catch a kiss._

_The rosebush was the only witness of their first confession, their love’s first kiss, and the first words they said to each other afterward._

_It was difficult for them to separate as evening caught them, but they did so with the promise of seeing each other soon…_

Victor bent down and rewarded one of the roses with a brief kiss.

The sound of steps on the gravel path made him smile. He ran his fingers over the petals he had just kissed. “Do you think flowers remember what they have seen?” he asked Yuuri.

The magician placed a hand over Victor’s and whispered, “Everything has a memory. For instance, all the trees and flowers in this garden came from trees and flowers which grew in the time of the Raven King. They carry in them a memory of him. The stones, the sky and the earth itself remember.”

A cold wind swept through the garden after those words and Victor shivered.

There was something dark and cold in Yuuri’s gaze. He blinked and it was gone. “Come inside,” he beckoned Victor. “The sun already set and the night promises to be a cold one.”

Victor waited for Yuuri to offer him his arm, but, much to his surprise, Yuuri turned and made for the house without him.

There was a difference in Yuuri’s manner and with every passing day it became more and more pronounced: he had the air of someone who knew a great secret. Victor, who had believed this from the moment that he had first seen Yuuri do magic, expected that now Yuuri knew all the secrets of the universe.

With a smile Victor hurried to join him and they entered the house together.

There is something about the house of every magician that sets it apart from all the other houses. Some houses have something genuinely magical about them while in others there is just a hint that this is no ordinary house. If a person with no magical abilities can notice this, imagine how obvious it must be for a magician!

Yuuri’s and Victor’s house in Yorkshire certainly had the air of magic about it. There were staircases where light and dark did not follow their usual rules. There were the stone ravens over the main entrance into the house. Finally, there was the library with its rows of books, most of them books of magic that had taken years to collect. The dark corners of the library made one think that there were more books hiding out of the light and away from prying eyes.

After dinner Yuuri retreated to the library where he remained until Victor found him several hours later.

The darkness of night had already enveloped the house when Victor entered the library with great care, a candle burning in the candleholder in his left hand. His footsteps made no sound as he made his way to the back where Yuuri always worked. A statue of the Raven King held several candles next to Yuuri’s table, casting his shadow to his right.

It was quiet. The only sound that broke the silence was the scratching of pen on paper. The floors under Victor’s feet did not even groan.

Victor stopped several steps away from the magician and held his breath.

Yuuri did not raise his head, too engulfed in the passage he was copying out and translating. He finished writing and contemplated the words he had written down in silence.

From where he stood Victor could not read a single word on the paper. He remained motionless, unable to find the courage to break the silence with the sound of his voice, or wait for Yuuri to notice him.

Whatever it was that Yuuri had written down did not please him. He frowned and read over the passage in the book as though he hoped that he had made a mistake and that another perusal of the passage would help him discover a different meaning for the words. His frown deepened and he closed the book with a sigh.

At last, Yuuri raised his eyes and noticed that there was someone standing in front of him.

The two men regarded each other in absolute silence, not even daring to move. Victor was struck by how deep the sadness in Yuuri’s face was. Even here, back in their home and away from London and its worries, Yuuri remained restless.

What was it? Was this evidence of Yuuri’s efforts to keep his promise to Lord Yuri? As soon as the thought occurred to him, Victor knew that there could not possibly be another explanation for it. After all, Yuuri was a man of his word, no matter what it cost him to keep it.

Victor circled the table and enveloped his husband in his arms. “You need to rest, Yuuri. Come, my love. You are still tired after the journey.”

Yuuri raised his face and Victor was pained to discover that it was wet from tears. “The only way to break an enchantment is to kill the one who had cast it!” he exclaimed in anguish. “Even then, it might not work.”

“Break an enchantment?” Victor repeated and felt a chill rise in his chest. If Yuuri was searching for a way to keep his promise, then there was only one enchantment in question. What followed was too terrible to contemplate.

Victor paled and held Yuuri close to his heart. “Come, my love,” he whispered. “You need rest. Perhaps after a full night’s sleep you will find another way.”

Yuuri stumbled to his feet and leaned on Victor’s arm for support as they walked back to their bedchamber.

 

At breakfast the next morning, Victor did his best to distract both Yuuri and himself from his thoughts about the discovery he had made the night before. He talked about their families and neighbours, which they would have to visit, even as his mind kept returning to Yuuri’s words in the library. More than once he asked himself if it was wise to ask Yuuri for an explanation, but, fearing what he might hear, he kept the conversation on topics which would have interested him before, but mattered very little to him now.

Yuuri responded, but his heart was not in it. He agreed to all the visits, but his gaze continued to return to the window and the garden beyond.

“The weather is wonderful this morning,” Victor pointed out. “We can go for a stroll after breakfast.”

Yuuri turned his head and met his husband’s eye.

“Please,” Victor begged, placing a hand over Yuuri’s.

Yuuri gave his consent with a smile and assured Victor that nothing would please him more.

To Victor’s surprise, after their stroll Yuuri acted like someone eager to please him. He offered the choice of amusement to Victor and insisted that they spent every minute of their day together.

 

Their first visit was on the following day when their choice fell on Victor’s parents. This choice was due entirely to the fact that they lived closer than Yuuri’s parents and, after their long voyage home, both men found that they preferred short journeys.

“Mother will be delighted to see us, I am certain,” Victor exclaimed as he helped Yuuri into the carriage. “I wonder what she will say when I tell her about the fashions in London. I have half a mind to make a few changes in our own house here to something resembling our house in Hannover Square. What do you think of that, Yuuri?”

Yuuri considered this question before answering. “Old-fashioned as the house may be, I have grown fond of the way it is. The west wing is at least one hundred years old,” he added, feeling that may not be enough of an argument in favour of making no changes. “Of course, that is not old enough to date back to the time of the Raven King, but it makes it interesting nonetheless.”

Victor gave Yuuri’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “My love, if the house is to your liking I dare not make a single change. Please forgive me for such a thoughtless suggestion.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Yuuri assured him.

The remainder of their short journey passed in reminiscing about the time before their engagement when they hardly had the courage to speak to each other. By the time they arrived Victor succeeded in making Yuuri laugh several times.

Once the carriage stopped they dismounted to be welcomed almost immediately by a servant. Victor recognized him at once and greeted him while still holding on to Yuuri’s hand. “Good evening, Tom. Are my parents well?”

“They are, Master,” the servant confirmed. He gave them both a long look before adding, “I was not aware that you planned to visit us, Masters.”

They exchanged a smile.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” Victor admitted. “Will you announce us?”

“Most certainly, sir!” the servant beamed. “The Mistress will be very pleased.”

“I dare say she will be ecstatic,” Victor whispered to his husband.

As soon as the two of them were admitted into the sitting room Mrs. Nikiforov leapt to her feet and hurried over to greet them.

There was so much enthusiasm in her greeting that there could be no doubt whatsoever that she was overjoyed to see them. Mrs. Nikiforov loved both of her sons dearly and was eager to tell both of them this repeatedly. She rewarded both of them with kisses and compliments, calling out to her husband to agree with her that their sons were every bit as charming and intelligent as she said they were. Mrs. Nikiforov was a tall woman with the long very fair hair and blue eyes she had passed on to Victor.

Mr. Nikiforov, at first glance, had not been blessed with the same beauty as his son was. However, anyone who spoke with him for longer than an hour had to concede that he was a very handsome man in his own way. He had a calmer nature than his wife and, while he felt all emotions as strongly as Mrs. Nikiforov, he was more reserved in his manners. He welcomed both his guests and asked them a few questions about their journey while Mrs. Nikiforov called a servant over and ordered lunch.

“You must stay the night!” Mrs. Nikiforov insisted. “Promise me that you will.”

Victor and Yuuri exchanged a glance. “Mother,” Victor began, “I promised Yuuri that we would visit his parents today as well.”

“That is easily done,” Mrs. Nikiforov replied. “I will send them a note to invite them here.”

It was impossible to argue against that, or, if truth be told, to argue against Mrs. Nikiforov at all and they gave in without making so much as an attempt.

Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki were sent for, but without revealing the true reason for the invitation.

While Victor told Mrs. Nikiforov all about London and described the many people he had met there Yuuri paced the room, stopping by the windows to peer out and see if a carriage was on its way to the house. Time and again he asked himself how far it was to his home and did his best to imagine how long a journey there and back would take. The wait for his parents felt interminably long.

When a carriage did appear Yuuri hurried out to meet them with Victor following close behind him.

The door of the carriage opened and Mrs. Katsuki stepped out, finding to her surprise that Yuuri was offering her his hand for support.

“Yuuri!” she exclaimed. “When did you return? I am so glad to see you!” she caught him in her embrace and held on for a long time before extending her greetings to Victor.

Mr. Katsuki gave his son a warm smile and asked about London.

As Victor exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Katsuki he kept throwing glances at Yuuri. Instinct of a loving spouse told him that Yuuri was not as happy as he appeared. He smiled and answered everyone’s questions, but there was a melancholy buried deep in his heart.

Victor did his best to act as though he did not see it. He spoke with everyone in happy tones, calling on his husband to agree with him from time to time.

As they entered the house once more Victor took Yuuri’s hand and gave him a tender look. “My love, I am here and so are our parents,” he said. “We are at your disposal. If there is anything that you desire, you have only to ask.”

Yuuri turned away to hide the expression on his face and Victor’s hold on his hand tightened.

They sat down to an excellent lunch. Victor took great pride in how quickly his mother had made all the necessary arrangements for a lunch no one had prepared for. It must be admitted that the lunch owed its success to not only the food, but also the pleasant conversation at the table. How could the conversation be anything but pleasant when there were six happily-married people sitting at the table at once? Every person at the table loved the others and held them in high regard, which kept the conversation away from unpleasant topics and incivility.

When Yuuri spoke about his magic he knew he commanded the attention of every person in the room. He forgot, for the moment, about all his worries and enjoyed true happiness.

Victor’s parents kept a garden, which was larger and better looked after than Yuuri and Victor’s own and all six of them strolled through it after their meal.

Temptation whispered into Yuuri’s ear then, telling him he could go on like this and forget all about England and, more importantly, about Lord Yuri, trapped in a cruel enchantment. The smile did not falter on Yuuri’s face. He said nothing which could give away the brief battle in his mind, or the decision as he reached it. It was his duty to save Lord Yuri even if it cost him his life. Of this he was certain.

He raised his hand and every flower in the garden sang.

“Ah!” Mrs. Katsuki gasped in pleased surprise.

Mrs. Nikiforov was next to exclaim, “How marvellous!”

Her husband took her by the hands and spun her around.

Victor, delighted by the idea, invited Yuuri to dance with him.

They moved in a slow dance and Yuuri became, yet again, all too aware of Victor’s charms. When Victor placed his head on Yuuri’s shoulder Yuuri blushed as deeply as he had done when they had first met. Victor’s warm breath tickled Yuuri’s cheek, making his head spin. Yuuri promised himself to be more attentive to Victor now, to give him everything he could while it was still his to give.

The memory of that dance and that entire stay carved itself deeply into the minds of both men and when night came Victor repeated the dance with Yuuri in the moonlit room, feeling his heart overflow with love.

They knew happiness then, true and unblemished by anything else. In the days that followed they were in a kind of paradise of their own (even when dealing with those neighbours whose company they did not enjoy).

There was peace, but something about it felt final. Victor could not shake the sensation that someone was holding a sword over him and Yuuri and that very soon that sword would fall.

 

They returned to their previous habit of taking walks in the garden after every meal, Yuuri leaning on Victor’s arm. When it was warm enough they would order the servants to set a table for them outside and enjoy an afternoon tea.

On one such walk they were surprised by a thunderstorm.

Victor watched Yuuri fuss and worry. He watched his husband try to take them back at great speed and Victor smiled. He stayed where he was and held Yuuri close to him. Rain tumbled out of the clouds in long thick curtains, pattering over their heads.

Water dripped down Victor’s face, his wet hair sticking to his cheeks and Yuuri was struck, yet again, by how beautiful his husband was.

“Do not stare at me so,” Victor whispered, “or I will do something foolish.”

“Your beauty is unparalleled,” Yuuri whispered. “Why do we waste our time in admiring flowers when I have your face to gaze upon?”

“Really, Yuuri,” Victor stammered out and then attempted to hide said face, but Yuuri kept a firm grip on his hands.

Victor leaned forward and caught Yuuri’s lips in a kiss and Yuuri felt magic flow from the top of his head down to his toes.

A loud clap of thunder startled them and Yuuri turned just in time to see lightning strike the tree beside them and split it into two.

Victor ran, pulling Yuuri along after him. They moved as fast as their feet could take them over the wet stones, not stopping until they were safely inside the house. Victor and Yuuri exchanged another kiss, ignoring all of the servants that had stopped to watch them.

“You must change into something dry,” Yuuri said, pulling away.

“I will,” Victor promised and kissed Yuuri again.

It mattered very little to both of them if any of the servants remarked upon this inappropriate behaviour, or if word of it reached anyone else. In that moment they were too preoccupied with each other to spare any attention to those around them.

 

Their happiness resembled a dream and Victor feared the moment when they would be forced to awake from it.

That moment, or a suggestion of it, came the following morning when a servant entered the room and announced two visitors Yuuri and Victor had not seen in a long time.

“Mr. Guang Hong Ji and Mr. Leo de la Iglesia,” the servant said and the two men entered the room.

Victor greeted them warmly as one always does with old friends.

Yuuri was more reserved in his greeting, even though it was obvious that the two visitors were more excited to see the magician than his husband.

“What brings you here, gentlemen?” Victor asked.

Mr. de la Iglesia indicated with a look that Mr. Ji was best suited to answer this question.

After some hesitation and another exchange of glances, Mr. Ji spoke at last, “After all of the services you have done for our country, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” at this Yuuri turned pale, “I determined that our country would be better served if we could find another magician.”

Victor’s eyes lit up with excitement, “Did you find one?”

“Alas, no,” Mr. Ji conceded and lowered his eyes.

“We have not given up hope,” Mr. de la Iglesia assured everyone in the room, including Mr. Ji himself.

“I am glad to hear it,” Victor told them. He then questioned them about all the towns and cities they had passed on their journey, fascinated by all the little details from the names to the houses and their inhabitants.

Yuuri was silent for the remainder of their visit. He was lost too deep in his own thoughts to pay attention to what was said. England needed more magicians, but how could one hope to discover them, if Yuuri had discovered his own gift thanks, for the most part, to a lucky accident?

He wanted to find a way to help them, but the only methods he could think of would require one of his visitors to use magic.

Only later, after they had left, did an idea occur to him. “If only I had more time!” Yuuri exclaimed to himself.

“More time, my love?” Victor repeated with some surprise.

“I think I know of a way to help find more magicians,” came the explanation.

They were sitting at dinner when this conversation took place. Yuuri slid his plate aside as though he had no appetite for food. “Yes, if everyone in England could attempt to perform magic, then the search would be made easier, I am sure.”

This statement intrigued Victor. “How do you propose to do this?” he asked and something about the way he asked the question suggested to Yuuri that he was prepared to accept Yuuri’s idea no matter how strange it turned out to be.

“I think I should write a book,” Yuuri explained. “That is to say – a book of magic. If I were to write one in English so that everyone could read it, it would mean that no one would need to learn the old language to study magic.”

Instead of the smile Yuuri expected to see on Victor’s face there was a frown at the sound of his bold declaration. “But, Yuuri,” he countered, “that would mean that everyone could become a magician!”

“Yes, of course,” Yuuri agreed. “How could a person know if they were a magician without attempting to do magic of their own?”

“My love, you forget that not everyone in the world is as good and as kind as you,” Victor pointed out gently. “They might use their powers to do terrible deeds. They might attempt to fight you, for example, or hurt others –”

Yuuri rose to his feet and paced the room. “Yes, of course,” he agreed, “but that is merely how people are. I am not perfect.” He stopped with his back to Victor and his shoulders stiffened. “Far from it,” he whispered. “And, yet, I have all this magic at my fingertips,” he pointed out and turned to face Victor once more. “I am not going to keep this knowledge from everyone else. It would not be fair.”

Victor tried to assure Yuuri that the idea was a good one, but, perhaps, better left for later, but Yuuri turned away once more and whispered, “I may not have much time left.”

Poor Victor! To hear his beloved husband utter such words was akin to being struck in the heart by a knife. He stifled his tears and rose to his feet to persuade Yuuri sit back down and eat.

That evening Yuuri returned to the library and his books. He worked late into the night and Victor felt happiness slip out of his grasp.

 

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was furious. The magician had run away from London, taking his beautiful and oh-so-interesting husband with him. The gentleman had enjoyed his time together with Victor and he was convinced that so did Victor. He had to rescue Victor from the magician’s clutches, he decided, but had not yet come up with a plan. He knew of many ways to do this, of course, but for one reason or another he was dissatisfied with all of them.

One night while he danced with Lord Yuri an idea occurred to him that brought a smile to his face and kept it there throughout the night.

It would work and, best of all, the magician would not suspect a thing!

 

Bleak and cold was the day when the gentleman with the thistle-down hair set off on his searches with his servant by his side.

There was no road here, not a single path to show where people might tread. There was nothing here but marshland as far as the eye could see in every direction. Any traveller who came here had no hopes of ever getting out. Apart from the gentleman and his servant no other living creature could be seen anywhere – no bird flew in the sky and no animal moved on the ground below.

Still the gentleman with the thistle-down hair walked with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he needed to go. Likewise, when he stopped it was impossible for an observer to see why he chose that specific spot and not another.

He motioned his servant to enter the water and stood and watched. “Find me the moss oak!” he ordered.

The ground was soft, causing the servant to sink into it as he waded through the water, arms reaching out to find what his master required. Finally his questing hands touched rough bark. His fingers trailed over it, searching for where the oak began.

“Ah!” the gentleman with the thistle-down hair exclaimed. “You found it! Excellent!”

He handed his servant a silver knife and watched him cut the moss oak out of the marsh and pull it out of the water. The moss oak was long and dark. It resembled an ordinary log, but when the servant ran a hand over the bark he could feel it thrumming with life.

As soon as the moss oak was out of the water the gentleman with the thistle-down hair stepped over to it. He pulled Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki’s handkerchief out of his pocket and held it over the moss oak as he squeezed out its contents. Tears dropped one by one into the oak.

Once the handkerchief was free of tears the gentleman put it away and reached down to tear the bark apart with his hands. It crumbled at his touch and revealed a face framed by hair so light it was almost silver. Two eyes with colourless irises stared up at the sky. As the servant worked to remove the rest of the bark the irises took on a pleasant blue colour.

The face of Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki smiled up at the gentleman and his servant.


	9. Mari Katsuki

Winter came to Yorkshire. In the mornings everyone awoke to find the grass sprinkled with frost and a thin layer of ice covering the water. Dead black trees rose out of the ground like visions from a nightmare.

Still, despite the cold, Victor would coax Yuuri out of doors from time to time and persuade him to go out for a walk. They would admire the first signs of winter, fascinated by them despite knowing what they promised.

Yuuri dedicated most of his time to his book. He toiled over it for several hours each day, determined to finish it soon. Work on the book proved to be more effort than he had at first anticipated – there were always more chapters to add and more to be said than he had initially planned.

One morning a servant entered the library to announce a visitor and before Yuuri could accept or decline to see them, the visitor followed the servant into the library.

“Mari!” Yuuri exclaimed, caught unawares by her sudden arrival. He rose from his seat to greet her. “Mari! Can I really be you? I did not know you were coming!”

She laughed. “I was not certain when I would arrive and could not send a warning of my arrival. Forgive me, Yuuri, but I feared that I would arrive before my letter. I am very glad to see you at last. Are you in good health? What about Victor?” She studied him, searching for any signs of good or ill health.

“We are both in good health, but what about you, Mari?” He regarded her for a moment with curiosity in his eyes and then, remembering himself, he rang for a servant to ask Victor to come join them.

“I see you are still studying magic,” she remarked, letting her gaze sweep over the bookshelves in the library.

“Yes, of course,” Yuuri agreed as though there could not possibly be any doubt about it. “And what of you and your voyage to the Continent?”

For most of her life Mari had expressed little interest in travels and remained at home, at times even avoiding social occasions as she did so. It was, therefore, a surprise to everyone when she announced to her family that she intended to travel across several countries to visit Venice.

Mari was older than Yuuri. Unlike her brother, she was not married and rarely ever spoke about marriage, leading everyone to think that she had no interest in it. More than that, she rarely – if ever – spoke about love. This was why when several minutes later she uttered the word Yuuri listened to her speak with open surprise.

“Mari!” Victor exclaimed, entering the room and throwing his arms around her, “I am so happy to see you!”

She laughed as she freed herself gently from his embrace.

They took her to another room and asked her to sit and, over tea and pastries, she recounted the story of her travels. Victor questioned her time and again about every detail. What cities had she visited along the way? What interesting places had she seen? Had she made any new acquaintances? Victor wished to know everything.

“I know that I cannot hope to do the cities justice with my words, but perhaps you will begin to understand at least a fraction of how I felt when I tell you that I fell in love with Venice and found it almost impossible to leave!”

Victor and Yuuri exchanged a look of surprise.

“Ah! If only we could have all travelled together!” Victor exclaimed. “It would have been very pleasant, of that I am certain!”

Yuuri said nothing. A feeling of guilt overpowered him at the sound of those words. He and Victor had been in York when Mari had made her decision to go and Victor had been too preoccupied with making arrangements for their move to London for them to even discuss the possibility of such a trip. Yuuri had been selfish and for what? What good had come of their time in London?

Yuuri was unfair to himself, forgetting the many people he had helped and remembering only about Lord Yuri who still suffered under the gentleman’s enchantment, but such was the strength of the guilt he felt that it pushed all other memories out of his mind.

Victor’s hand caught Yuuri’s, startling him from his thoughts. “Once you finish writing your book, my love, we will go together,” he promised.

Feeling that this trip would be insufficient, but content with this offering for now, Yuuri nodded in agreement.

“Yuuri is writing a book?” Mari asked, setting her cup down and giving Yuuri a searching look.

“Yes!” Victor confirmed. “I have not had the chance to read it yet, but he assures me that it will be a book of magic, in _English_ this time!”

Yuuri blushed under the intensity of their combined attentions. “I am merely translating spells that I found in other books of magic and including notes of my own,” he assured his sister.

Mari reclined in her seat and gave him a smile to show that she was not convinced. “You worked hard to gain all of that knowledge,” she said at last. “Is it fair to give all that away so easily? What do other magicians think of that?”

“There are no other magicians,” Yuuri told her. “That is to say – there are plenty of theoretical ones, but no other practical magicians.”

“Yuuri is the only magician in all of England!” Victor declared proudly.

“Is this true?” Mari asked.

“I am certain that there are other practical magicians in England,” Yuuri told her. “Perhaps they do not wish to make themselves known, or they have not discovered their abilities yet.”

“Yuuri is England’s only magician,” Victor insisted. “I know it in my heart.” Yuuri did not dare argue with that, despite being convinced that what Victor said was not true.

They spent the afternoon together by the end of which Yuuri and Victor succeeded in persuading Mari to stay for a few days.

That night as Victor and Yuuri prepared for sleep Victor sat down at Yuuri’s side and took his hand to tell him, “You need not worry about us – work on your book. Mari and I will keep each other company.”

Yuuri caressed Victor’s hair with his hands. “I cannot leave you two on your own!” he insisted.

Victor closed his eyes. Yuuri’s fingers continued to move through Victor’s hair, arranging it carefully lock by lock. “If you wish to join us, we will never be far,” Victor reminded him.

Yuuri’s fingers did not stop moving. After going over all of Victor’s hair they arranged his locks into a braid. He planted a kiss on Victor’s bare shoulder and whispered, “Good night, dear heart.”

“Good night.”

 

The sun had barely risen above the horizon when a messenger arrived at the house. Pale light fell through the windows, pushing the darkness away and taking its place.

The butler entered the bedroom without making a single sound and tapped Victor lightly on the shoulder.

“Hmmm?” Victor turned over slowly, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Master, there is a man here who wishes to see Master Yuuri. We all know how upset Master Yuuri gets when roused early…”

Victor dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He turned back to Yuuri and planted a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. “Yuuri, you have a visitor…” he whispered into his husband’s hair.

Yuuri moved a little, making a soft sound as he did so, but Victor knew his husband well enough to see that he was still asleep.

Victor’s hands slid over Yuuri’s shoulders as though he wished to flatten down the creases in his husband’s nightshirt. “My love,” he said in slightly louder tones this time, “we have a visitor. I am certain that he came here seeking the help of a magician and should not be kept waiting.”

Yuuri made another incomprehensible sound and continued to sleep.

Victor smiled, his heart overflowing with fondness. In his mind, there was no doubt that his husband was the most powerful magician in the world. He often thought of their first meeting like an act of magic and would take great delight in remarking to Yuuri that he was under his spell. All those matters aside, it touched him deeply to observe Yuuri at moments like this one: when he was as ordinary as any other man, for magician he may have been, but he would often get himself into trouble and Victor saw it as his duty to get him back out of it again.

“I love you, my love,” he whispered tenderly, “and I would lie here with you for all eternity.”

“Victor…” Yuuri whispered.

“But duty does not permit such an act of neglect.” He sat up and drew the blanket aside with a single sweep of his arm. “Will you shirk your duty, my love?”

Yuuri turned over and looked into Victor’s face.

Victor felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He bent over his husband. “Are you trying to bewitch me, Yuuri?”

“I would never work my magic on you, Victor,” Yuuri said in a tone of voice that was completely serious. “Have I not said as much before?” His tone gave away just how much the question had hurt him.

Victor had no argument to make against such a question.

 

A quarter of an hour later Yuuri entered the sitting room, fully dressed and looking suitably presentable, his clothing and hair all arranged as propriety required for a man receiving an important visitor. Looking at him, it was hard to believe that he had been awake for less than an hour. It was so much easier to believe that he had been interrupted in his studies of magic.

The visitor turned out to be none other than Lieutenant Phichit Chulanont. At the sight of his smiling face Yuuri struggled between two opposite feelings. On the one hand he was glad to see his friend here and – what was more – alive and well. On the other hand the image of his friend stirred many memories in Yuuri’s mind that he preferred not to remember. What was more, he feared that his friend had come to ask him to return to the war. It must be admitted that Yuuri had buried himself so deeply in writing his book that he had no inkling of how the war with Napoleon was progressing. At times, he forgot that there was a war at all, or that he had fought in it.

“Hello, dear friend!” Phichit exclaimed and they exchanged a warm handshake. Phichit had not changed much since the last time he and Yuuri had seen each other. He was, perhaps, a little thinner, but Yuuri was relieved to see that Phichit had no injuries. There were white stains on his uniform that Yuuri struggled to explain to himself.

“Phichit! I am so happy to see you! How goes the war?” Yuuri asked and braced himself for an order from Lord Yakov.

Phichit gave him a sharp look. “Have you been studying magic all this time?”

Yuuri coloured as though he had been caught in a crime. “Yes, I have. I am writing a book of magic.”

“So I have heard,” Phichit told him. “It comes as no surprise to me that you do not know that the war with Napoleon is over.”

“Over?” Yuuri repeated in disbelief.

Victor chose that moment to enter the sitting room and the conversation was interrupted so that more greetings could be exchanged.

After several inquiries were made about each other’s health, the conversation returned to its previous subject.

“Ah yes! I read about it in the papers!” Victor admitted upon hearing Phichit’s news.

Yuuri prepared to ask his husband why he did not tell him about this when a suspicion occurred to him that Victor had told him, but the knowledge had somehow slipped from his memory.

Victor must have guessed what Yuuri was thinking because he gently changed the subject. “Seeing as we are now at peace with the French and Napoleon is banished to the island of Elba, it cannot be a war that brings you here so early, or am I mistaken? Did we end one war only to start another? Or did Napoleon return to France to ruin our peace?”

Phichit laughed. “No, no, do not let your imagination convince you of something which is untrue.” He watched Yuuri and Victor exchange relieved smiles. “I am here on a mission of peace and I was sent with the utmost urgency,” he remembered and his face twisted with worry. “Ah! How foolish I have been to sit and converse as though we have all the time in the world when someone is waiting for our help! A ship entered a harbour not too far from here and ended up trapped on a sand bank. I was on the ship when it happened, but I succeeded in getting to the shore. I made haste to fetch you, Yuuri, hoping you could save the ship and everyone on it.”

Now Yuuri understood what the white stains were – Phichit must have swum to the shore in his uniform and the salty water left its mark on his clothes as they dried. “Yes, of course,” he agreed and rose to his feet.

Victor got up to join him.

While the servants were getting the carriage ready for them Victor made arrangements to have a breakfast for them to take on their journey and Yuuri left to tell Mari where they were going. His sister, eager to see how her brother would help the stricken ship, declared that she would come with them.

In a half hour’s time all four of them were seated in a carriage bound for the coast.

Phichit spent the journey giving Yuuri news about Lord Yakov and Captain Mila, as well as several other officers they had both befriended during the war.

Captain Mila was back in London now and – if rumours were to be believed – she was engaged to be married to a beautiful young woman named Sara Crispino, the very same Miss Crispino who had invited them to many soirees during their stay in London.

Victor laughed at this rumour. “Ah yes! Miss Crispino wrote to me about a dashing young captain, but she never let slip that it was Captain Mila! I admit that I am waiting for a letter from her and I expect her to give me a full account. I will certainly ask her for one, if she fails to write about it this time. A wedding!” he exclaimed and put a hand over Yuuri’s. To his great delight, Yuuri smiled at him in response. “We must invite them here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri agreed with Victor and then listened to him talk about their return to London without saying a word.

The journey took little more than an hour, but the road had been so uneven that all of the travellers were glad when they arrived at the coast and could leave the carriage at last.

Victor and Yuuri walked arm in arm towards the beach. The wind blew around them, playing with the folds of their clothes and flinging their hair in their faces.

A man in uniform ran out to greet them and explain what had happened, but – alas – Yuuri could make no sense of his tale, since half the words he used were not ones he had ever heard before. The magician blinked in confusion as he did his best to make sense of what was said.

“This is a strong breeze,” Yuuri noted, raising his hand as though to catch it, “I can change its direction to help push the ship off – what did you call it?”

“Horse sand,” the man repeated. “Do not alter the wind!” he added hastily and proceeded to explain why Yuuri’s suggestion was the wrong way to deal with the problem. He then grabbed Yuuri and shook him as though wishing to shake the magic out of him just in case he was already performing magic.

Victor stepped in and freed his husband from the man’s hold. “What do you propose?” he asked coldly, holding on to Yuuri’s arm to steady him.

The man looked form the magician to his husband and wondered how best to answer such a question. He began by describing the many things, which – for one reason or another – he did not want the magician to do, but even he had to admit that this was in no way helpful.

Yuuri hardly heard what the man said, so preoccupied was his mind with the two words he had heard before. An odd idea took shape in his mind. He turned away from the group and made several steps towards the water. He could see the stricken ship and the boats around it full of people doing their best to help.

With a wave of his hand and a few choice words Yuuri silenced the wind – it was nothing more than a hindrance to everyone. Finally he crouched down, placing two hands on the sand, and closed his eyes.

Around him people were chatting. The man who had met them on the shore was questioning Victor, demanding to know what Yuuri was doing. The men in the boats were shouting to each other. Seagulls filled the skies with their screams.

Yuuri thought about ravens and then his mind turned to horses.

The earth trembled under him. His eyes snapped open and he watched two cracks extend from his arms all the way to the sand bank where the ship lay trapped.

A smile appeared Yuuri’s face and he rose to his feet, brushing his hands clean.

Victor was the first to join him, followed closely by Phichit and Mari and, finally, the man whose name Yuuri still did not know.

“What have you done?” he demanded, rounding on Yuuri. “What is that in the water?”

Everyone’s eyes were on the water now. Something dark was moving in it. The men in the ships stopped what they were doing to shout and point at the shapes moving in the water.

“Those are sand horses,” Yuuri told him. “I made them out of the horse sand you talked about.”

“What are they for?” the man asked, watching waves rise in the water and lift the boats up.

“Tell the men to catch the sand horses and use ropes to get them to pull the ship free,” Yuuri instructed. “They should help you free your ship.”

The men left to give the appropriate orders.

“Yuuri that is incredible!” Mari exclaimed.

Phichit gave her an amused smile and then looked back at Yuuri with pride, as though he was the one responsible for Yuuri’s skill with magic. “Have you not seen your brother perform magic before?” he asked. “I have had the pleasure of seeing him do much more impressive feats of magic while we both fought in the Peninsula.”

All three of Yuuri’s companions saw the way his face darkened at this reminder of his time in the war. Victor gave Phichit a warning look, and saw that Phichit knew all too well about the mistake he had just made. Whatever had happened in the war, Phichit had been there to witness it, Victor realized. He suppressed the temptation to question him about it and offered his arm to Yuuri instead, inviting him to take a stroll together along the beach.

They watched men struggle to catch the sand horses and exchanged smiles. The tension and fear Yuuri had felt at Phichit’s reminder drained away.

Something caught Yuuri’s eye and he crouched down to pick up a stone to show Victor. The dark clouds above them parted and the sun’s rays fell on it, making it sparkle. The stone rolled in a circle over Yuuri’s palm. It changed shape, turning first into a raven, then a small tree and finally a house that could fit snugly into one’s hand. Lights appeared in the tiny windows, much to Victor’s delight.

Victor laughed and rewarded his husband with a kiss, forgetting that they had an accidental audience.

Not many of the sand horses were caught and, later, many of the men working to free the ship insisted that the horses were not required: the ship was freed simply by the sand moving away. After several hours (and certainly after Yuuri and the others left) the sand horses returned to the sand banks, but they settled in new places and many captains complained that the harbour had changed so much that entering it was difficult and almost dangerous. Word of this never reached Yuuri and he never got a chance to correct what he had done.

 

Like Mari, Phichit was invited to stay with Yuuri and Victor, but they did not stay long and left for their own homes on the same day – Mari took a road that led up north while Phichit headed south, eager to return to London and all the pleasures that city had to offer.

The day after they left Yuuri discovered a spell that would have been of great use to him while in the war. As soon as he was certain he had mastered it, he rushed out of the library to show Victor at once.

Victor was composing a letter in his study when Yuuri rushed in.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, raising his eyes from the paper before him.

Yuuri shook his head. “There is no great urgency. I can wait for you to finish your letter,” he offered.

Victor set his pen aside with a smile. “No, no, you have intrigued me and now writing is out of the question.” He rose to his feet and took Yuuri’s hands. “You must tell me what it is now.”

“I have discovered a new spell!” Yuuri announced, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Will you show it to me?”

Yuuri cast a look around the room and spotted a cup of tea cooling at the corner of Victor’s table. He placed it between them and spoke, dividing the water into four quarters with his finger. Lines glowed on the tea’s surface.

“Show me where I am,” Yuuri ordered and named the quarters – England, Scotland, Faerie and some other place. A light appeared in the corner Yuuri designated as England. He started over, dividing the surface into four corners – north, south, east and west England. Victor watched Yuuri go on thus until he got his own exact location.

Yuuri laughed. “I know where I am, of course, but this shows that the spell works!” He raised his eyes and met Victor’s gaze.

There was such a depth of feeling in Victor’s eyes that the colour rose to Yuuri’s face. He turned away to conceal his embarrassment.

Victor enveloped Yuuri in an embrace from behind and rewarded him with a kiss. “I love you.”

 

The days grew colder and darker and Yuuri spent more hours than ever locked away with his books as every candle burned in the library.

Loneliness weighed more on Victor’s soul with every passing day. After the discovery of the searching spell Yuuri stopped speaking about the magic he was doing. Victor knew Yuuri well enough to recognize all the signs that Yuuri was making progress on some new magic. What was there left to do but wait until Yuuri decided to confide in him?

But the cold made walks outside impossible and Victor preferred to stay indoors to subjecting the horses to such weather, which meant that he could not visit their relations, or any of their neighbours. The post came rarer and rarer and all of Victor’s friends in London wrote to him about the balls and soirees they were attending to pass the time.

Victor did everything anyone would do when left to their own devices and began to invent his own pastimes, all without breathing a word of his struggles to Yuuri.

 

Yuuri was making a lot of progress now. He discovered another useful passage about faeries and was just working on translating it when a servant arrived to tell him that a visitor had come for him.

Frustrated at this interruption, Yuuri left to see what it was they wanted.

The visitor turned out to be one of his neighbours – a young man named Mr. Hyde who, owing to his only being interested in hunting, was not on very close terms with Yuuri or Victor. His sudden appearance here, therefore, caught Yuuri by surprise.

“Good morning, Mr. Hyde, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Yuuri asked and hoped against all hope that this time the man would get to the point right away, allowing him to return to his work faster.

“As you know, the animals in the woods surrounding our houses are…” he began and Yuuri’s heart sank in his chest.

As the man talked at length about hunting, how good the hunt was and what he had succeeded in catching Yuuri thought longingly of his books and the comfortable silence in the library. He made an effort to nod along to Mr. Hyde’s words as though he was very interested in all the man had to say.

“…when who should I see but your good husband, Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki himself!” the man exclaimed, startling Yuuri out of his reverie.

“What?” Yuuri exclaimed. “Victor?”

“Yes. He was walking out on the snow in a long black coat and with no hat on his head. I called out to him many times, but no matter how loudly I shouted he did not seem to hear me.”

Yuuri was at a loss for what to say to this. He gazed out of the window at the snowstorm as his mind struggled to make sense of Mr. Hyde’s tale. “When did you see him?”

“Yesterday,” the man replied.

“How odd! This morning he told me that he has no inclination to leave the house and has not had any for several weeks.” Yuuri frowned as he cast his mind back to the conversation over breakfast.

“Are you certain of this?” the man pressed.

Yuuri gave him a look of surprise. “Yes, of course! Not so long ago he left to visit his parents and he came to tell me as much.” Yuuri’s memory produced the image of Victor, dressed for going out and with a smile upon his face.

_“Yuuri, I will go pay my parents a short visit. Do you wish to come with me?”_

He had turned down the invitation at the time.

Yuuri questioned his memory. Was he certain that it had happened a week ago? Had he not gazed outside at the time and remarked that the weather had improved?

“Is Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki at home right now?” the man asked.

“He must be!” Yuuri exclaimed, angered by this question.

“There is a simple way to check,” Mr. Hyde pointed out in a reasonable tone of voice.

Yuuri, alarmed by the looks the man was giving him, rang for a servant and asked where Victor was.

“The master is in his study,” the maid answered, giving both men in the library a curious look.

Not satisfied with this, Yuuri left to check himself. He crossed the hallway and knocked on the door of Victor’s study.

“Come in!” Victor called out.

As soon as Yuuri opened the door his gaze fell on Victor who was sitting at the table and writing. His hair shone in the light of the candles. His cheeks glowed and his eyes had so much feeling in them that Yuuri crossed the room without thinking.

Victor tossed his pen aside and the wedding band on his finger caught the light as he raised his hands to take Yuuri’s face.

Mr. Hyde had been seeing things. Perhaps he was drunk, or perhaps he was mad. In that moment and in that place, it mattered very little to Yuuri what the explanation was.

Later he told the man he had been mistaken, but he kept the incident from Victor, preferring to tell him nothing.

 

A week later Mr. Hyde returned. He saw Victor again, he insisted. This time he said he called out and Victor had heard him.

“He turned to look at me and his eyes, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov! Oh, his eyes!” Mr. Hyde exclaimed. “They were dark and empty like the eyes of a lost soul!”

Yuuri listened to this account in irritation. “Victor is here. We spent the morning together. Yesterday he told me he planned to spend the day reading the new book that had arrived for him while we were having breakfast. He was in the library with me after that.”

Despite this, Mr. Hyde remained adamant that he had seen Victor and not someone else.

This time Yuuri did not trouble himself with searching for Victor. The frequent interruptions could not have come at a worse time for him – he was convinced that he was close to finishing the first draft of his book. It also irritated Yuuri that, as a result of these conversations, he was forced to recount to his neighbour what he had done and what Victor had said as though they were criminals before a court of law.

He offered the man some refreshment and did his best to see the man out as quickly as possible.

Still the man kept coming, as though determined to test Yuuri’s patience.

 

Two weeks later Mari paid them another visit. She had written to Yuuri and Victor ahead of time to get their permission to come and planned to stay for the rest of the winter, complaining about how dull lonely it was to be locked away with nothing to do and the cold weather keeping her in one place.

Mari spent the days with Victor, marvelling at the many hours Yuuri dedicated to his work.

On the third morning of her stay she was alone with Yuuri at the table and made use of the opportunity to tell Yuuri how negligent he had become not just as a host, but also as a husband.

Yuuri gave her a look of surprise. He then looked at the spot at the table which had been left for Victor, but, despite his wishes, it remained empty.

“Where is Victor?” Mari asked.

“He must still be asleep,” Yuuri answered and gave a heavy sigh.

Mari gave him an incredulous look. “You sound uncertain. Was he sleeping when you came down for breakfast?”

A blush rose to Yuuri’s cheeks. “I do not know,” he admitted, “I fell asleep in the library.”

Mari prepared to tell her brother what she thought of married men who slept alone in a different room, leaving their spouses alone and neglected, but her eye swept over his tired face and all her reproaches froze on her lips.

“I know what you must think of me,” Yuuri said in a half-whisper, “and I promise that as soon as I finish my book, I will dedicate less time to magic and more time to Victor.”

She said nothing to this, as though deliberating whether or not to believe him.

Yuuri’s eye returned to the empty chair prepared for Victor. “It is not like him to rise late,” he observed.

“Perhaps he is not feeling well,” Mari suggested.

The idea made a pallor spread over Yuuri’s cheeks and he rose from his chair to see to Victor at once.

Mari, equally alarmed, rose to follow him.

Yuuri ran up the stairs and into their bedchamber where the curtains were all drawn over the windows, keeping the room in darkness. He made straight for the bed and leaned over it, an apology rising to his lips, but before he could say anything he withdrew in alarm

The bed was empty.

“Victor?” he called out, trying to see if he could be found in any of the dark corners in the room, but no one responded to him.

Fear made Yuuri walk to the doorway and call out for a servant in a trembling voice.

A maid answered his call. She stopped and curtseyed.

“Where is Victor?” he asked her. “Have you seen him anywhere?”

“No, sir.”

Yuuri, knowing Victor’s fanciful and romantic nature very well, suggested, “Perhaps he is taking a stroll in the garden.”

“In this weather?” the maid asked in disbelief.

Yuuri drew apart the curtains and stared out at the falling snow. His heart beat faster in fear. He turned away from the window. “Find him,” he ordered in a voice that sounded unlike his own.

His strength gave out and he dropped into a chair, his mind in disarray, as the maid rushed off to carry out his orders. It was his duty to keep his wits about him, but he felt fear paralyze his mind, making it impossible to think.

Mari watched him in silence as the sounds of the search filled the house. She could not explain why but very soon she became convinced that they would not find Victor in the house. She remained at Yuuri’s side and did her best to think of a plan. What could she do? What could anyone do in their situation?

The servants returned, but instead of bringing Victor they brought someone else with them.

Mari recognized Mr. Hyde, Yuuri and Victor’s neighbour.

“I saw him again!” the man exclaimed, barging in without any kind of introduction. “Will you believe me this time?”

Yuuri raised his pale face and stared at Mr. Hyde in incomprehension.

“Who did you see?” Mari asked, placing a hand on the back of Yuuri’s chair. She knew then what the man would say before he got a chance to say it.

“Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki,” he told her. “He is out there in the snow!”

Mari glanced at the window and a shudder passed through her body. How could anyone possibly be out there in such weather?

Yuuri rose, his eyes also fixed on the window.

The snow fell thick and fast.

“We must organize a search,” Mari said and watched Yuuri give a weak nod. “Do you have a map?”

It fell to her to give all the orders. Yuuri was too stunned to make a single decision on his own. Mari sent word to all the neighbours, asking them for their help. Men and women arrived from the neighbouring houses and several more of them admitted to having seen Victor walking out in the snow, but no two of them could agree on the direction he was headed.

Mari sent some of them back to their homes, instructing them to wait there if Victor should come to them, seeking refuge from the cold. She then divided up the map and people into search parties, telling each of them where they should go look.

“We do not have a lot of time before the sun sets,” she reminded them.

Outside the cold wind swept over the hills. After the sun set, it would only grow colder and the dark would make the search nearly impossible, but she was determined to continue the search until they found Victor.

Mari left Yuuri in his sitting room to wait in case Victor should return on his own in her absence. She dressed in her warmest clothes and set out with several servants and dogs to aid in the search.

 

Yuuri sat by the window and waited. Where had Victor gone? Why had Victor left? He thought of his neglect over the past few weeks. His mind turned to all those hours he had locked himself away with his books. He imagined Victor’s deep loneliness – here he was with his husband, but he may as well have lived in the house by himself.

Yuuri’s head dropped into his hands and he wept. He cursed his book and all of the magic ever done by anyone. Why had he ever decided on such a profession?

Hours passed by. The sun began its descent to the horizon, still keeping behind the clouds as the snow piled higher and higher.

The door opened and Mari entered, all covered in snow and looking exhausted. Yuuri rushed to her side.

She shook her head.

“Rest,” he ordered her. “I must search for him now.”

An idea occurred to him then and he felt hope warm his heart, “Yes, of course!” he exclaimed. “I have the means to find him quickly. How could I forget?”

He prepared to order his servants to bring him his basin when a cry drew his attention.

Several people entered the house. Mari recognized the members of the search party, which had been sent farther than all the others. They had someone among them. The newcomers stepped aside and Mari let out a gasp.

Victor stood in the middle of the crowd. His clothes were soaked all the way through. Even though he was back home now there was a lost expression on his face as though the house was foreign to him. When his eye fell on Yuuri he regarded the magician the same way he had done the rest of the house.

Yuuri rushed towards Victor and stopped. “Good god, Victor! What do you have on?”

Mari’s eyes took Victor in from head to toe. There were splashes of mud all the way up to his face. The hem of his clothes was torn, but what had caught Yuuri’s eye was that Victor, who even in the comfort of his own home, persisted in dressing fashionably and in a way that always complimented his figure, was dressed in old clothes which had long gone out of fashion. His hair – usually so carefully arranged on his bed – fell loosely about his shoulders and, Mari noted with a shock, there were leaves and little branches in it.

Yuuri gripped Victor by the hands. He turned his right hand over and demanded. “Where is your ring?”

“Ring?” Victor repeated and the way he said the word suggested that he could not understand what it meant. He gave Yuuri wide smiles and caressed his face tenderly even as Yuuri’s hands continued to hold his in an unbreakable grip. There was an unhealthy spark in Victor’s eyes.

Mari joined them. “Yuuri,” she said in soothing tones, “can you not see how ill he is? He needs warmth and rest. The walk in the cold has fatigued him.”

“No,” Yuuri insisted with a determination that frightened Mari more than Victor’s strange behaviour, “this is not Victor. Even weary from travel and ill he would never part with the wedding band I gave him. One day he had dropped it by accident into a river and leapt into the water after it. Afterwards he was bedridden for a whole week, but he wore the ring all through his illness. He often told me that he would rather die than part with it.” Desperation and anger mixed in his voice as he recounted this story.

Mari’s heart trembled. She could not bear to see her brother in so much pain. Once again she attempted the soothe him, to convince him that, perhaps, he was being too fanciful. Here was Victor, she insisted.

“No, no!” Yuuri argued, his temper rising. He gripped Victor with an alarming show of strength. “You have failed to capture his likeness!” he insisted. “Victor has hair that is fairer than yours and eyes that are bluer! What can you mean by this deception? Who are you? What do you want with me? – No, no, all of those questions can wait. Right now I wish to know one thing – where is my husband?”

“Am I not –” the person with Victor’s face began, wriggling in Yuuri’s grasp and rolling his eyes alarmingly.

“No, you are not!” Yuuri exclaimed.

Mari then became aware of the number of people gathered around them. All the servants were here, she was certain of it. Most of the neighbours were here as well. Like her, they were all shocked by Yuuri’s treatment of the person who resembled Victor.

“I lost the ring in the snow,” the person who resembled Victor said, “I spent the day searching for it.” There was a delirious smile on his face as he said those words.

Mari gave an involuntary shudder.

“There is no truth in your words,” Yuuri insisted coldly. “Tell me where my husband is.” His voice was quiet now, but a shudder passed through the house and the glass in the windows tinkled as though the panes were all trembling with fear.

Mari spared a quick glance for the windows. The darkness behind the glass was deep now, as though prepared to swallow someone up.

“Where is he? Where is Victor?”

Despite Mari’s best efforts to remind herself that this was Yuuri, her brother and the man who cared for Victor more than anyone else, his anger terrified her.

How much magic could he do? That was a question she had never asked herself before and one she had no answer for.

“I walked among my sisters and brothers as the sun rose over the hills. I listened to them speak to me,” the impostor whispered with a crooked smile.

Mari’s blood ran cold. This was madness, plain and simple. She noticed several servants exchange worried glances. “Yuuri, can you not see how the cold has affected his mind? He needs to rest. His clothes are soaked. He needs to change into something dry and warm. I am certain that –”

“No,” Yuuri cut her off. His tone was calm, but Mari felt her limbs stiffen. She stood rooted to the spot, wondering if it was terror or Yuuri’s magic fixing her thus in one place.

Yuuri looked at all the servants gathered around him. “Bring me a basin filled with water,” he ordered.

One of the servants rushed off to carry out his order. No one dared to speak or move before the man returned with what Yuuri had asked for. They closed in around him, eager to watch him perform his magic.

Yuuri divided the surface of the water into four quarters and asked his question. His voice trembled and he stammered over his words.

Victor was not in England, Scotland, or in Europe. He was not in Heaven, or in Hell. He was in Faerie.


	10. Victor

The darkness was deep and empty. It was stitched out of loneliness, of the deepening hole in Victor’s heart. He lay on the bed and waited for Yuuri, but Yuuri did not come.

The bed remained empty and cold.

The fingers of one hand slipped over his other and there, on his finger, he could feel the wedding band, the one that Yuuri had bought for him.

_“Will you take me, Victor?”_

He raised his hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the ring.

Why was Yuuri not coming?

Victor ought to go and find his husband. It was his duty to rescue him, even if it was merely to rescue him from himself. He rose, pulled on his dressing gown and searched in the dark for a candle.

As soon as he had a light to see by he left his bedchamber and walked down the hallway to the library.

Another light appeared in front of him, making Victor stop. The light drew closer and revealed itself to be one of the servants with a candle in his hand. “Master,” he whispered, “there is a person here to see you. They tell me it is a matter of great urgency.”

Victor ordered the servant to lead him to the visitor. As he passed through the dark house he wondered who could be calling at such a late hour. He could hear the wind howling outside and he suspected that the snow was falling as thickly as ever. What sort of urgency could send someone here in such weather?

A clock in the house began to toll the hour and Victor stopped to listen. Three mournful tolls rang out one after another and he felt each one echo in his heart.

Perhaps a servant had come to tell him that his parents were ill, he thought and rushed down the corridor.

But when he entered the room and his eye fell on the messenger waiting for him, he stopped uncertainly. The man was unknown to him.

“Please, sir,” he said as soon as Victor entered the room, “my master needs your help.”

“Who do you mean?” Victor asked and wondered what he could possibly do to help.

“Lord Yuri is my master, sir. He sent me here to fetch you,” the servant explained and Victor recalled seeing the man a few times during his visits to Lord Yuri. “A carriage is waiting for you,” he added as though Victor had already consented to going.

Victor moved like one in a dream. He forgot that he was not dressed for a journey. He forgot how long the journey to London was, or that no one would know where he had gone after he left. He followed the servant wordlessly out to the waiting carriage and climbed inside.

Only when the horses set off and Victor watched his house disappear from sight did he realize what he had done. He should have found Yuuri and told him where he was going.

He imagined his husband performing magic, or writing about it late into the night and scolded himself. He ought to make certain that his husband got the rest he needed and did not work all through the night like he so often attempted to do. Instead of leaving to help Lord Yuri – even though he doubted he would be of much use to him – he ought to have stayed. He was Yuuri’s husband after all.

Alas, all of these thoughts came too late.

_I will write to him as soon as we make the first stop to change horses. I will explain everything and apologize for not telling him right away,_ he decided.

He looked out of the window, hoping that the sun would rise soon and that he would be able to see the road, but the night continued. A moon hung in the sky, larger than he had ever seen before. Silvery light fell over the dead trees and made the snow-covered hills sparkle.

The rattle of the wheels sounded different now and the hills fell away to make room for a dark bottomless gorge as the carriage crossed a bridge. The bridge ended and Victor was amid fields once more. There was no snow here. Instead, the ground was strewn with odd-shaped objects that gleamed in the moonlight.

A torn flag flapped in the breeze, tied to a pole fixed in the ground not far from the road. All around it metal gleamed. Here – a suit of armour, there – a giant sword stuck out of the ground.

What battle had been fought here? What had they fought for? Who had won?

Victor gazed at the never-ending battlefield in amazement.

A sparse forest rose on either side of the road. The trees grew closer together with each passing mile and, amid them, lay the ever-present signs of a battle.

How many had died here? What happened to the people they left behind? Victor felt tears rise to his eyes.

An old castle peeked through the trees. The road turned towards it and the carriage came to a stop.

Victor opened the door of the carriage and stepped out.

What stood before him was not a castle, but the sad corpse of one. The roof had fallen in, the windows were all without glass. The entrance was a gaping mouth.

Someone stepped out to meet him and the silvery moonlight fell over the figure of the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. “My dear Victor, I am so glad you could make it!” he exclaimed, offering his arm.

Victor’s eye swept over the castle a second time and returned to the gentleman. He discovered that he was not surprised to see the gentleman here.

Someone ran out of the castle and Victor recognized Lord Yuri.

The gentleman stepped closer. “Will you come inside?” It sounded less like a question and more like a statement of fact.

Victor smiled and placed his hand over the gentleman’s arm. The wedding band on his finger gleamed in the moonlight. “I will be honoured to join you,” Victor assured his jailer.

 

“In Faerie!” Yuuri exclaimed in despair as all the blood drained out of his face.

“Yuuri, my love,” the person who looked like Victor began, putting his arms around Yuuri with a smile.

“Do not touch me!” Yuuri shouted and pushed the man away.

No one said a word as he picked the basin of water up and left the room with it.

Mari watched him go, unable to do anything to stop him. She did not need to ask Yuuri where he was headed to know the answer.

As soon as he left a murmur passed through the room. Everyone moved about as though something that had been holding them before loosened its grip on them at last.

Mari could see the glances they exchanged and knew what they whispered to their neighbours. Yuuri’s odd behaviour towards his husband unsettled all of them.

It was left to her to thank everyone for their help and persuade them to return to their houses with assurances that fatigue was making everyone say and do what they would not have said or done otherwise.

One by one they bade her farewell, exchanging dark looks and ominous remarks as they went.

“Mari!” the person with Victor’s face exclaimed. “Do you believe that I am not Victor? Will you cast me out into the storm?”

Mari hesitated before speaking. She trusted Yuuri to perform his magic correctly. She knew how much Yuuri loved Victor, but his strange behaviour of late – his neglect towards Victor and the many hours he spent in the library – made doubt enter her mind. She had seen how devoted Yuuri was to Victor and would never suspect him of doing something to harm his husband deliberately, but it was possible that working his magic so much had clouded Yuuri’s mind.

Finally, whether this was the real Victor or not, Mari could not find it in her to turn him out of doors, not with the storm raging outside as it was doing in that moment.

“Come with me,” she ordered and helped Victor climb the stairs.

He smiled at her and her doubt deepened. The manners were all Victor’s. He was missing his ring, this was true, but the manner in which he carried himself was certainly Victor’s.

Perhaps Yuuri had made a mistake with his magic. As soon as the idea occurred to her, it became a certainty and Mari shuddered at the thought of how close she had come to turning Victor out into the storm. She gripped his hand tighter and regarded him with a softer look.

Not wishing to anger Yuuri, she led him to one of the bedchambers kept for guests and helped him change into dry clothes. She summoned a maid and together they prepared tea and made certain that a warm fire burned in the grate.

Victor lay down on the bed and they covered him with all the blankets Mari could find for him. Still he trembled from the cold. As Mari and the maid put in their best efforts to warm him up, he grew silent. He hardly touched the tea they prepared for him and shook his head when they offered him warm food.

Mari adjusted the blankets over him and her eye fell on his face. He was pale, but his lips were moving quickly.

She lowered her head with great care to hear what he was saying and could barely contain her surprise when his voice drifted over to her.

“My roots! Oh how they ache! My poor roots!”

She raised herself and stroked his forehead. Was this delirium, or was it proof that Yuuri had been right after all?

She gave orders to the maid to stay and watch over Victor and slipped quietly out of the room.

Light filled the library. Yuuri stood at his table, performing magic over a basin of water and frowning at the visions it showed him, his face as pale as Victor’s.

“Yuuri!” she called gently.

He did not hear her and continued to work.

“Yuuri!” she repeated her call, raising her voice slightly. “Yuuri!” She walked over to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuri!”

After her fourth call he tore his gaze away from the water’s surface. His hand tapped it and the vision faded away before Mari could see what it had been.

“You must go to Victor,” Mari insisted. “We need to send for a doctor: he is very ill.”

“That is not Victor,” Yuuri declared.

She took him by the hands. “Yuuri, please, do not leave him alone. You will never forgive yourself afterwards.”

“You do not believe me,” he realized, freeing his hands from her grasp. “I can show you proof. I can…” He uttered a spell and the surface of the water changed to show more than a dozen pairs spinning around in a dance.

“Do you see?” Yuuri asked. “He is in Faerie. He was stolen from me, stolen from…”

Mari saw nothing but dancing figures, most of which were dressed in white. They all had light-coloured hair she dismissed as wigs that had long gone out of fashion. The wigs matched the large dresses and awkward clothes worn by the men. She imagined she could see them laughing as they danced, or possibly even singing.

Unable to stand the spectacle of joy before her, she looked away and her eye fell on Yuuri’s face.

The light from the vision fell over his features, making his face glow. There was an expression in his eyes as though he was seeing something she could not and buried deep in his eyes there was pain and fear.

“Yuuri,” she said softly, “you need rest.”

He shielded his eyes with his hand as if unable to bear to watch the vision any longer. “Has he forgotten me so soon?” he whispered.

Mari hesitated and then let her hand tap the water’s surface. To her surprise, the vision vanished at her touch. “Come, Yuuri, you are tired. Come.” She led him out of the library, stopping only to put out all of the candles that remained behind.

As soon as he entered his bedchamber, Yuuri’s eye fell on the empty bed and tears rolled down his cheeks. “Oh, Victor!” he exclaimed. He dropped onto the bed as huge sobs shook his body.

Mari covered him with blankets, remembering a time when he was only five years of age. She had been twelve at the time. Their parents had left to pay a visit to their relations in a neighbouring town and had remained overnight, leaving Yuuri in her care. It had fallen to her to make certain that he slept and did not sit up half the night, reading by the moonlight that fell in through his window.

She imagined him as he had been back then – small and weak, and fascinated by everything that caught his attention.

“Rest now,” she told him, smoothing out the blankets over him. “We will think about what we must do in the morning.”

She stepped out of the room to fetch more blankets to prepare a makeshift bed for herself in one of the armchairs she ordered a servant to bring into Yuuri’s bedchamber.

A restless night followed. Yuuri kept waking up from his sleep while Mari’s thoughts made it impossible for her to find a moment’s peace. Her thoughts returned to Victor. If that was an impostor under their roof, then when did Victor leave and how did he find himself in Faerie?

Yuuri would awake terrified and determined to attempt more magic and each time Mari had to soothe him back into sleep.

“You do not understand! Victor is in Faerie! He must be rescued from there!” Yuuri exclaimed.

Mari stroked his head. “Sleep, Yuuri, you will search for Victor in the morning.” She hardly knew what words she was saying, but fatigue would pull Yuuri back into sleep and his head would drop onto the pillow, his heavy eyelids closing on their own.

Sleep claimed Mari as dawn approached, but it was a fitful sleep full of troubled dreams. She watched Yuuri walk away from her into an all-consuming darkness, unable to follow him and powerless to stop him. She wept and called out his name as dead trees closed in around her.

 

In the Castle of Lost Hope the guests of the gentleman with the thistle-down hair followed the steps of the dance, holding on to their partners, or switching them if the dance called for it. The gentleman himself led the brightest jewel of them all into the dance.

Victor was dressed in the purest white embroidered with gold. There were flowers and ribbons woven into his hair. He moved with more grace than everyone else in the hall and bestowed his smiles on everyone around him.

The gentleman did not release him for a single moment and glowed with the pride of a brave conqueror. Each time he passed by Victor’s ear he was certain to whisper something in it that made Victor laugh.

Lord Yuri stood forgotten in a corner and regarded everyone in the great hall with open contempt, sending angry looks at the gentleman’s new partner.

One of the dancers took him by the hands and pulled him into the circle. There were small eyes in her hair that blinked as one at Lord Yuri before directing their attention elsewhere.

The floor below their feet was crumbling, there was no roof above their heads and many plants wove their way over the walls, but still everyone danced on as though determined to dance until time itself came to an end and the entire universe fell into ruin in much the same way as the castle had.

In England another night came to an end and Lord Yuri awoke in his own bed. As Lost Hope vanished before his eyes he thought he caught a glimpse of an expression of fear on Victor’s face.

 

Mari awoke with a start. She lay on the edge of a bed that she did not recognize at first. A warm blanket that someone had draped over her slipped down onto the floor. She sat up and saw at once where she was: she had fallen asleep at Yuuri’s side.

Her eyes swept over the bed, but it was empty. Yuuri had already left. As she had expected, he had returned to the library and his magic. It was almost noon and she had slept through the whole morning, but the sleep had helped her regain her strength. Outside the skies had cleared and the sun was shining in the sky at last.

After making certain about Yuuri’s whereabouts, Mari paid a visit to Victor.

His forehead burned under her touch and he continued to complain about pain in his roots. Terrified, Mari sent for a doctor and, after some hesitation, wrote a letter to his parents as well, explaining what had happened and asking them to come at once.

As the hours passed by, her fear and worry only increased. She waited anxiously for the doctor, uncertain of what was best for treating Victor’s illness. Was it right that she was doing her best to keep him warm? Was there something else she ought to be doing? She craved someone’s advice and turned to the maids for help.

When the doctor arrived at last she watched him examine Victor and made certain to take note of all his instructions. He gave her a long sad look before he left, but said nothing.

Mari understood all too well what the doctor dared not say and hurried to plead with Yuuri that he come see Victor.

Yuuri was working on a spell when she arrived and his manner was colder than she had ever seen.

“Send it away,” he said with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “That is not Victor. It is nothing more than an illusion sent to trick me.”

Still she persisted. “Yuuri,” she begged as best as she could, “come see him, if only for a moment. Please say you will come, even if you do not stay long.

Yuuri gave her a long piercing stare and nodded to show his consent at last.

 

Yuuri was furious. He was angry with the gentleman with the thistle-down hair for this trick. He was angry with the impostor for attempting to take Victor’s place. He was angry with Mari for falling for the deception. Most of all, he was angry with himself for not finding a way to return Victor home at once.

He saw Mari’s determination to see him pay Victor a visit and relented.

He had made no progress at all that morning and suspected that a few moments’ absence would make little difference.

As he walked to the bedchamber where Mari had left the impostor, he considered how he should treat the person who had been so impertinent as to assume Victor’s form.

He resolved to be cold and distant, but as soon as he entered the room, as soon as he saw Victor lying in a bed and unmistakably at death’s door, Yuuri’s resolve faltered.

“Oh, Victor!” he exclaimed and dropped to the impostor’s side to take his hand.

The impostor’s eyes were directed at the ceiling over his head, their expression unseeing as his lips moved soundlessly. He did not turn his head and did not acknowledge Yuuri’s presence in any way.

“Victor!” Yuuri dropped his head onto the right ring-less hand and wept.

That was how Mr. Nikiforov found her son and his husband. “Victor!” her piercing cry rang out, startling both Mari and Yuuri. “Victor!” She was at his other side at once, fussing over him, eager to do everything she could to battle against the illness claiming her son.

Yuuri rose to his feet and watched her summon servants and give them orders.

_That is not Victor,_ Yuuri remembered. He meant to tell her this, but seeing the way she took charge of everyone around her, he could not find the will to speak up.

He knew what manner of creature this was. His magic had shown him and he had read all he could find about such creatures, but could he use magic now to expose the deception? He knew the deception was not meant to last and that, in defiance of everyone’s best efforts, the impostor would die, but he lacked the courage to say this to Victor’s mother.

She gave everyone, save him, an errand and Yuuri watched without a word as they rushed about.

The person with Victor’s face did not recognize anyone. His eyes remained open as he mumbled nonsense, to everyone’s great alarm.

Two hours after Mrs. Nikiforov’s arrival the thing, the false image – Yuuri would never dare call _it_ Victor – died. His eyes closed and he gave his last breath, as though releasing his soul, if such a thing had one.

Mrs. Nikiforov was inconsolable in her grief. At first she stood over the impostor, calling out Victor’s name and doing her best to rouse him, but he did not open his eyes and made no sound.

“Yuuri!” she exclaimed, turning to him in her despair. “Yuuri, use your magic! Help him as you helped Lord Yuri!”

He fought the urge to smile bitterly as dark thoughts circled in his mind. He had certainly helped Lord Yuri! The magician had spied Lord Yuri amid the dancing figures in Faerie and understood at last the terrible fate he had cursed him with.

“I cannot,” Yuuri said with a shake of his head. No magic could restore life to the impostor now. His life was cut short as soon as he had taken Victor’s image. “There is nothing I can do for him now,” Yuuri said, rising to his feet and making to leave the room. Mrs. Nikiforov caught him by the arms and her eyes dug into Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri freed himself gently from her grasp and left.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Mrs. Nikiforov’s legs gave out, unable to support her weight and the weight of her grief any longer, and she dropped onto the edge of the bed and wept over the impostor’s corpse.

 

In the library Yuuri began a spell of summoning. His voice shook as he prepared to bring Victor back. Was it possible that the solution was that simple? Was it possible to just call Victor to him and Victor would come and then all Yuuri would have to do was to make certain that Victor was free to move wherever he pleased.

But he cut himself off right before he could name the person he was summoning. No, he would not risk Victor’s life or well-being by trying different spells. He needed one that he knew would do exactly what he needed it to.

_I cannot bring him to me,_ he thought, _but, perhaps, I can go to him._

But he knew no spell to go to Faerie.

Every book of magic that spoke about going to Faerie described the King’s roads and claimed that all one had to do was to walk down one of these roads and the traveller would find themselves in Faerie itself. From the writings of different magicians and stories passed down through generations Yuuri knew that there had once been a time when a common English road would lead to one of the King’s roads, but, just as magic had left England with the King’s disappearance, so did the roads no longer lead to Faerie. Some of them turned on themselves, while others led to the middle of a field or forest where they would end abruptly.

Yuuri would have to find his own way.

He tried a spell for making a road, but without any specific points to anchor it to, he could not create one. Faerie was big, possibly bigger than England itself, which only made creating a road to it more difficult.

He remembered then that there was a road not far from his house that was rumoured to be one of the King’s roads.

He made for that road at once.

When he stepped outside it was snowing, but not strongly enough to make him reconsider his plan and return home, but as he kept walking the snow only fell harder. Still he did not stop until he came to the very spot. The road was unkempt here. Stones appeared here and there in the ground to show where it lay, but he had to clear the snow away to find them. Now he stood in the middle of a field at a spot where there were no more stones.

Yuuri uttered a spell of revelation and waited with his arm outstretched. He had formed no plan for what he would do if a road were to appear before him, but that did not matter: the spell had no effect. Snow continued to fall, covering the fields with an ever-thickening layer.

Yuuri attempted the spell for opening, the spell for ending an enchantment and every other spell he could think of, but still the King’s road did not appear before him.

The sky began to darken and still the road remained hidden.

“Yuuri!” someone called out.

He turned and saw his sister running towards him through the snow.

“Why are you here?” he called back. “You need to return home!”

She continued on, as if she had not heard him, not stopping until she was right at his side. “Yuuri, why are you here? The snowstorm is rising! Come away from the cold!”

He cast a slow look over the landscape, raised an arm and uttered a few words.

The snow stopped falling and the clouds parted to reveal a darkening sky.

“Yuuri…” Mari began, but did not finish.

He turned to look at her. “I know what you wish to say. I have failed to succeed here. There is little I can do now. I will go home.”

They went together. Mari questioned Yuuri about the magic he had done, but after receiving a few curt answers Mari went silent.

Yuuri, who had expected more questions was surprised by this. “Did something happen in my absence?” he asked.

“Our parents just arrived,” Mari admitted after a long pause. Her eyes bore into his face, trying to guess what he would say to this.

Yuuri merely nodded, as if he had expected them to come. He did not even take the time to ask who had written to them. It mattered very little who it had been, but the absence of that simple question troubled Mari.

They said nothing the rest of the way home. Mari questioned her own conscience as she walked through the snow. Had she done everything in her power to try to save him? She had sent for a doctor, but he had arrived too late to help. Now she would have to make arrangements for a funeral.

“I sent for a priest,” Mari admitted half to herself and half to him.

“Priest?” Yuuri echoed without understanding.

“We will need a priest for the funeral,” she explained. There was a heavy weight in her chest. It made speaking impossible.

Yuuri paled. He turned his face away and said nothing.

 

Two days later they held the funeral and a priest said all the words over a corpse with Victor’s face. Yuuri and Victor’s parents all attended the funeral as well Mari. A few of their neighbours had come to pay their respects, but there had not been enough time to send for any of their acquaintances and no one dared to breach the subject with Victor’s parents.

They watched men struggle to dig a hole in the frozen ground and then lower the coffin so they could lay the ground over it.

Yuuri’s hands tightened on his hat and his breath came in short sharp gasps. He felt as though they were burying him in the ground.

“My boy! They are burying my poor little boy!” Mrs. Nikiforov wailed, distraught in her grief.

Mr. Nikiforov held her hand in his, saying nothing, his face betraying the full depth of his sorrow.

Yuuri turned at the sound of her voice. “No,” he said, remembering himself at last, “Victor is alive. You will see – he is alive and well, but he is trapped in Faerie with no way of escaping.

“Oh, Yuuri!” She pulled him into an embrace, holding on tightly. “My dear Yuuri, as painful as it is, you must accept the –”

“No,” he broke from her grasp and retreated beyond her reach, “Victor is alive,” he went on insisting. “I will find him and I will save him, even if I must walk into Hell to do so! Why was I made a magician if not for this?”

They watched him turn away and leave, too stunned to argue.

Mari watched the priest cross himself and utter a prayer. The others exchanged troubled glances. Not one person among them believed Yuuri’s words.

Mari recalled Yuuri and Victor’s happiness at their wedding and how Yuuri had made the hills sing their songs of joy for them. She remembered the way her brother regarded his husband when he thought no one was observing him. She remembered the sand horses and Mr. Chulanont’s stories of the miracles Yuuri had performed during the war and she thought of the way Yuuri stood alone in a snowstorm, as though attempting to break down the world itself and she found that she believed him at last.

Victor was not dead. As long as Yuuri was alive and determined to fight for Victor’s freedom, Victor was not gone forever.

She watched Mrs. Nikiforov give in to her grief and said nothing. If they did not trust Yuuri’s word, they would not trust hers.

 

Word had reached London of what had happened in Yorkshire, but rumour mixed with the truth and people added their own thoughts, which resulted in less truth than lies.

Thus it was that when Sir Otabek came to pay Lord Yuri a visit one morning he said, “I worry this will cause you great distress, but I thought it would be best if you heard the news from me.”

Lord Yuri nodded to indicate that Sir Otabek had his full attention.

“I know about your close friendship with Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki and I know that this will come as a shock, but,” he hesitated, “Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki is dead. He went out in a snowstorm, caught a chill and passed away shortly after his return.” He did not add anything else, having no wish to upset his husband further. The previous day one of the ministers suggested strongly that Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov had murdered his own husband. Sir Otabek, who had seen them together frequently, dismissed this as nothing more than a foolish rumour.

Lord Yuri’s face showed only rage at this declaration. “Dead!” He scoffed. “He is worse than dead: he will never know peace.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I see him every night. The magician is to blame! He must be put on trial for his crimes!”

Sir Otabek was silent. He gave his husband his full attention, but he neither argued nor agreed with Lord Yuri’s words.

 

That evening Yuuri exhausted all the methods of getting to Victor he could think of. The faerie could pass easily from their world into his own, but the way was closed to English magicians.

He had worked through every book of magic in his library and now had a stack of papers covered in his translations and another stack of papers with all the spells that could possibly be of use to him. Each spell was crossed out as he attempted it.

In the Raven King’s time the magicians would enter Faerie even without the aid of the King’s Roads, of this he was certain.

How had they done it? Why had no one written anything down? Was it possible that in those times it was seen as natural as breathing and that was why no one had troubled themselves to record how they had done it?

He paced the library, folding his arms around himself. Perhaps his magic was not strong enough for this task, but had he not read once that the strength of the magic depended on the strength of will of the magician performing it? He was certain he had enough will to move mountains.

“Oh, Victor!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop and placing his hands over his face. “What do I do now?”

A knock on the door awoke Yuuri from his thoughts. He did his best to keep his frustration from appearing on his face.

Mari stood in the doorway with Victor’s mother at her side. “Yuuri,” she began, entering the library and enveloping him in her arms. “The hour is late. You must sleep.”

“How can I sleep?” he demanded. “No, the time for rest is over! I must work hard to restore Victor to us.”

He saw the pity in their eyes and knew that they did not believe him. Worse than that, Mrs. Nikiforov spoke to him like one speaks to a child that is ill and needs looking after.

He wanted to show her what he had seen – Victor under an enchantment, by the gentleman’s side, but she interrupted his magic and forced him to return to his bedchamber as though he was a disobedient child, refusing to listen to a word she said.

Arguing with her was entirely out of the question.

He lay in bed, unable to sleep and wishing he could find a way to see Victor in that moment. There had to be magic he had not attempted yet, he reasoned. Alas, he could think of nothing which would help him in his present difficulties.

A week went by in his search. He attempted to invent magic of his own, but none of the spells had the desired result. Once he succeeded in opening a door to a place that was filled with the most terrifying screams imaginable and closed it at once before anyone else could discover what he had done. He was very pale for the remainder of that day and, while everyone inquired if he was unwell and sent for a doctor, his mind kept returning to memories of the dead Neapolitans he had restored to life.

 

The following day he awoke with his soul in the grips of the darkest despair. He had not succeeded in discovering a single spell which could aid him in rescuing Victor. Perhaps the gentleman with the thistle-down hair had deflected all of his spells, but with such a powerful adversary Yuuri stood no chance of succeeding.

All the colours drained out of the world that morning. The sky was the colour of longing and the wind never ceased to wail its lament. The trees bent in prayer, shaking their branches, as though wringing their hands. Everything about him was in misery and despair. The world was cold and bleak, the people in it nothing more than spectres.

Yuuri’s heart ached stronger than ever. He dressed in black as though he was in mourning.

He spent long hours sitting by the window and staring out, unable to find the strength of will to do anything else. He had not simply run out of spells which he could use: in that moment he was convinced that he had run out of magic to use.

This was how Mari found him. She questioned him about his attempts and even the proof that she believed his story about Victor did nothing to raise his spirits.

“You cannot give in now!” she coaxed him.

“What am I to do now?” he asked her in return. “I would fight the faerie working the spell, but if something were to happen to me, what then? If I were to die, who would save Victor? No, it would only doom him to spend an eternity in Faerie!”

“There must be something you can do,” Mari insisted. “There must be magic you have not tried, magic which would help you rescue him.”

Yuuri gave a long sigh. “I dare not even conjure visions of him for fear of alerting the faerie. The Raven King himself failed to stop them kidnapping people. If he did not succeed, then how can I hope to do anything?”

Mari was silent at this. Determined to do something, she asked Yuuri if she could look through his translations to see what she could find. Yuuri granted his permission with indifference.

Outside the snow gave way to rain and Yuuri traced the progress of a single raindrop with his finger. Rain fell hard, hitting the roof with a loud clatter. The wet, grey world stretched out forever behind the glass.

It was the same rain as that time.

 

_“Rain again,” Victor sighed._

_“I can part the clouds for you,” Yuuri said, raising his eyes from the book he was reading._

_Victor chuckled. “Whenever someone says that, they are proclaiming the strength of their feelings. I am blessed with a husband who can actually deliver his promise.”_

_Yuuri felt his blood rush to his cheeks as he noted the smile on Victor’s face. “Thank you,” he stammered out in embarrassment and lowered his eyes once more._

_Victor came up to him, placed his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders and leaned down over him. “I do not possess any of your knowledge or skill with magic, but I am willing to attempt the task, if you request it.” He planted a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek._

Yuuri sat by the window as water droplets slid down against the glass. One of his hands traced out the path of a water droplet, while his other hand rose unbidden to his face to gently brush against his cheek.

 

The last candle was about to go out and still Mari read through Yuuri’s notes. Spells and old tales alternated with each other in the papers Yuuri had left on his table in the library. She had seen him work hard to finish translating every book in his possession. She had watched him write a letter to every bookseller he knew and then wait eagerly for a response.

Yuuri needed more – more time, more books and more magic, but where could he possibly find it?

She raised several papers and uncovered a beautifully-bound book. Forgetting for a moment that she could not read its contents, she opened it and her eyes fell on the dedication inside.

_To my dear Yuuri,_

_I hope this book provides some of the answers you are looking for._

_Your loving husband,_

_Victor_

Mari closed the book and put it away as though she had stumbled onto something not meant for her eyes.

The candle crackled and went out, leaving Mari in the dark and with no choice but to abandon her search.

 

Yuuri refused to eat. He hardly slept and no one saw him perform any magic for days. To their great surprise, he did not even enter the library. He cared very little about his own appearance and dressed solely in black.

He spoke about faeries and their mad dances. He spoke about the Raven King, stolen away when he was still a child and forced to grow up in Faerie. But if before his stories fascinated the listener and captured their attention now they only confused and frightened his audience. He delivered them in a half-mumble, as though recounting them for his own benefit and no one else’s.

At the sight of his grief Mrs. Nikiforov nearly forgot her own. First she took charge of the house as if it was her own and then gently steered the conversation away from faeries and magic. Yuuri’s grief broke her heart and she promised both herself and her husband that she would find a way to keep him from spending the rest of his life in mourning.

The parents spoke about other countries where the sun shone brightly and the people breathed more freely. They made Mari tell stories about her travels and Mrs. Nikiforov herself uttered one morning how much she longed to see Italy and how she thought that a trip would do all of them a world of good. She discussed preparations for a long journey and made plans for where they would stay along the way. She, who had never ventured outside Yorkshire, spoke about meeting new people and seeing new places with all the delight of an avid traveller.

“Yuuri, do you not think a trip would be an excellent idea?” she asked.

He turned away from the window and the sight of a rain that never seemed to end. “Yes…” he agreed without knowing what he was agreeing to.

“Then we can make all the preparations and leave at once!” she exclaimed, putting on a false cheeriness.

“Leave?” Yuuri echoed, giving her a puzzled look.

“Why, yes, of course! I find that I would like to see the world for myself!” she went on in tones that did not convince anyone present and only made Yuuri frown. “I think Venice will agree with me very well, yes!”

“Venice…” Yuuri whispered and a tear rolled down his cheek.

Everyone spoke up at once, pretending to be excited by the prospect of this trip. Only Yuuri remained silent. He did not argue and he did not agree. The parents spent the day turning over the idea out loud, arguing if it was wise and what was best.

On the following morning they all gathered at breakfast, armed with a plan for their travels, but Yuuri’s chair remained empty.

When he failed to appear at breakfast they grew worried and sent a servant to summon him, but the maid returned with a troubling report – the bedchamber was empty and the bed – not slept in. Yuuri was not in the library, or, indeed, nowhere else in the house.

Yuuri had vanished overnight without telling anyone where he had gone.


	11. All the Mirrors of the World

The old city of York hid many secrets in the folds of its streets. Aside from the society of magicians and various booksellers tucked away in hidden corners, it hid England’s only practical magician.

Yuuri needed to stay in England, convinced that the road he wished to take started in England. He also wished to be away from everyone else to have a clear mind to think about what he would do next.

But, instead of thinking, or performing any magic, he roamed the streets like one who was lost.

The streets twisted in knots, houses came together over his head and Yuuri thought again of the coffin buried in the cold ground with a corpse inside it that had Victor’s features. He stopped and loosened his necktie, suddenly finding it difficult to draw breath.

He stood in a deep shadow, in black clothes and with his back hair he blended into the darkness.

A group of people passed by in the illuminated part of the street and their conversation drifted over to him.

“They say the magician killed his husband and then did away with himself!”

“So much the better!” another voice exclaimed. “I always knew nothing good would come of magic!”

Yuuri watched the speakers go by as though they were a vision in his basin of water, far beyond his reach.

Around him the city settled down to sleep, the sounds fading away.

Then, at last, he drew in a deep breath of the night air and set off.

Yuuri took rooms at the same inn where he had stayed with Victor during his previous visit to the city. It had made finding a place to stay easier. When he heard the innkeeper give him the same rooms as last time he worried about the memories the rooms would stir up in his mind, but as soon as he stepped inside and recognized the chair in which Victor had sat while they listened to Mr. Ji speak a warmth spread in Yuuri’s chest as if had just returned home from a long and tiring journey.

There stood the tall mirror in front of which Victor had beautified himself while stealing glances in Yuuri’s direction, as if to make certain that he was watching.

 

_“I would hardly trouble myself with all of that, if I were you,” Yuuri admitted, rising to his feet and coming over to join Victor by the mirror. “You are beautiful beyond the power of mere words to convey just as you are.”_

_Colour rose to Victor’s cheeks. He let Yuuri fold his arms around him and accepted a warm kiss pressed to his cheek with a laugh. Victor raised his hands and placed them over Yuuri’s arms. “I must continue to strive to be as beautiful as I can be,” he insisted._

_“Whatever for?” Yuuri asked, prepared to protest that he loved Victor for more than his beauty._

_Victor gave Yuuri an affectionate kiss. “Because of the way your eyes light up when I succeed.”_

_“I did not know my eyes betrayed me thus!” Yuuri said in return and the both of them laughed._

Yuuri felt tears roll down his cheeks. The mirror reflected him standing alone. He placed his hand on it and felt his reflection’s cold touch in return.

What was it he had read about mirrors once? He remembered a time when he sat before a mirror with Victor and made the reflection stop moving with a single thought.

_Mirrors are not windows, but doors._

Where did those doors lead?

An idea occurred to him then and he passed his hand before the mirror, whispering a spell of revelation. The surface darkened and he felt it weaken. He reached out to touch it and felt his hand pass through. Yuuri’s heart trembled as, with great care, he stepped into the mirror and passed into the world beyond.

He stood on a stone bridge. Far below him he could see myriads of bridges criss-crossing under the one he was standing on. He raised his head and saw the bridges rising into the sky above him.

The bridges were narrow and had no railings, but he felt no fear as he crossed the one he was standing on. Stone steps led between all the bridges. He stood, uncertain of the path to take, before at last settling for going down. At the next bridge he continued down and so on until he reached the ground.

The sky was full of a tangle of criss-crossing bridges. A little way off they began to grow lower and lower until – in the very distance – there were no bridges at all, just fields for as far as the eye could see.

He raised his head once more and the realization dawned on him that he had no way of distinguishing where he had come from.

Yuuri whispered a spell and it carried up, loudly in the air, spreading and growing until he saw a white ribbon leading up to one of the bridges. That, presumably, was where he had entered Faerie.

Reassured by this, he turned and walked out to where the bridges ended and the fields began.

Faerie is vast: one cannot walk the length of it easily. It would be akin to walking from London to York several times. Faerie is filled with all manner of creatures, but here, where Yuuri had found a way to cross into it at last, the fields were devoid of all life. More than that, they were featureless for as far as the eye could see – no trees, no houses dotted the landscape to break up the monotony. There was no life here.

Yuuri thought about his books as he returned to the bridges with sad resignation. In his haste to escape from his own house, he had left all his books and all the notes he had made behind. There had to be a way to enter Faerie from different places, he reasoned, as he followed the white ribbon back.

When he reached the spot where he needed to cross back into England, he hesitated and cast a look about him. The bridge which had led him began to descend at the very spot where he had stepped through, he was certain.

An idea occurred to him then and he turned to walk to the other side of the same bridge.

 

The rumours about Miss Crispino and Captain Mila were true. The two of them made their engagement publicly known not long after Yuuri’s miraculous rescue of the ship caught on the horse sand.

It was still left to them to fix on a date. For various reasons, they kept delaying the wedding. The first date they had settled on was deemed unsuitable for one reason or another, next they learned of a wedding of one of their acquaintances and had no wish to hold their own so close to theirs. At last they settled on a date to their satisfaction, but just as Mila was writing out the first ten invitations, the news of Victor’s death reached London.

Both women heard the dark rumours that people repeated to each other and put in a good word for Yuuri, convinced that he was not to blame for what had befallen Victor. They wrote letters to the magician, placing themselves at his disposal should he desire to see a friend. They offered their condolences in the kindest ways imaginable. Alas, by the time their letters reached his home Yuuri had fled.

That evening they were alone in Miss Crispino’s sitting room, recounting to each other all they had heard about the magician and his husband, and reflecting on the sorrow that the magician felt.

“My love,” Miss Crispino said, taking the captain by the hands. “I do hope you will not use this as a reason to delay our wedding further. I am getting very impatient.”

Captain Mila affected a laugh, but even her bravery and resolve faltered in the face of Miss Crispino. She knew no fear when she had fought against the French, but Miss Crispino’s reproach made her knees tremble.

Who could blame the brave captain? Miss Crispino had never fought anyone or taken a person’s life, but she had such a sharp tongue on her that was certain to take at least one life. When Miss Crispino looked cross, the captain was prepared to do anything to appease her.

The captain mumbled several words in an attempt to assure her fiancée that, were it possible, she would marry her at once, but something caught Miss Crispino’s eye and she rose to her feet as she walked closer to the mirror to examine it, missing the captain’s assurances entirely.

“How odd!” she exclaimed. “I have no reflection!”

Captain Mila joined her in examining the mirror. It was so dark that it made the captain look about the room to make certain that there were still candles burning around her. This was more than a mere trick of the light, she was certain.

“Perhaps it needs cleaning?” the captain suggested in the tones of someone who knew nothing about cleaning, only that it had to be done and that someone other than her would do it.

Miss Crispino laughed at this remark and was about to tease the captain about it when a figure appeared in the darkness. With every passing second it grew bigger, as if someone was coming closer towards them, until at last it resolved itself into a man moving with the ease of someone taking a stroll out in the fresh air. He neared the mirror and stepped over and out of the frame, as the women drew back in amazement.

But their surprise at his sudden appearance was nothing compared to what they felt upon recognizing the newcomer and seeing what a change had come over him since their last encounter.

“You will forgive me, I hope,” Yuuri began with a bow, for it was indeed he who had come, “the lateness of my visit.”

When neither of the women moved to return the greeting, or even to speak, he cast a worried glance back at the mirror, which had resumed reflecting the room as if it had never done otherwise.

“Perhaps, I have called at a bad time?” he ventured and made a step towards the mirror. “In that case, I will leave at once.”

“No, no!” Captain Mila protested and caught him by the arm. “You must stay. Please forgive us our state of confusion. We did not expect you to arrive…” she threw a quick glance at the mirror, “…by so extraordinary a means.”

Miss Crispino led him gently to a chair and sat him down after which both women greeted Yuuri with all the formality that could be expected in such unusual circumstances.

“We were speaking of you right before your arrival,” Miss Crispino told him. She lowered herself into a chair close to Yuuri’s. “We are…” She exchanged a glance with the captain, “…please accept our condolences. We are both pleased that you have accepted our offer of assistance…” She saw him frown and hastened to correct herself. “That is to say, our offer of assistance remains, should you wish to…” her voice trailed off as the puzzlement on Yuuri’s face deepened.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but I know nothing of this offer.”

“We wrote to you,” the captain explained. “Did you not receive our letter?”

“No.” Yuuri coloured. “I must confess that I left my house with some haste several days ago, so, perhaps, it arrived in my absence.”

Captain Mila studied Yuuri. Gone was the fashionable gentleman she had known in the war. The man who had taken his place presented a very sorry sight and her heart went out to him. He had a rugged look – his hair was long and in tangles, his face was unshaven and there was dirt on his clothes, but his eyes shone with an inner power. In fact, she realized with some surprise, he was beginning to resemble the image of a magician she had formed in her mind before they had met.

“Thank you,” he said, “but I must decline both your offer of assistance and your condolences. You see – Victor is alive!” he declared and gave them both a smile.

The women gasped at this revelation and the captain gave a nod. Of course Victor was alive! How could anyone doubt that?

“You have brought him back to life, then?” Captain Mila asked and gave Miss Crispino a look that told her plainly that this was just as she had expected.

“I have not,” Yuuri countered. “It is not required. Victor was stolen away by a faerie!”

Captain Mila listened to his tale and watched his eyes light up. He explained about an impostor and she nodded along, remembering how they had rescued Lieutenant Phichit. He then talked about mirrors. All of them were connected to each other, he told them, and all of them lead to Faerie.

“Ah! Excellent!” the Captain exclaimed. “We can storm the place and free your husband!” Captain Mila was finding it hard to adjust to life in peace and was impatient to return to the battlefield, especially if it could be for a noble cause.

She caught Miss Crispino’s eye and saw the fear in her fiancée’s face. The woman moved carefully away from Yuuri like someone moves away from a dangerous animal – moving slowly in case it decided to strike at something moving fast.

“No, no,” Yuuri shook his head. “I must go alone. This requires magic and not weapons. I will find him myself. I must,” he added in a whisper.

Captain Mila attempted to argue against this, but Miss Crispino shot her a warning glance, silencing her before she could say all she thought on the subject.

Despite Miss Crispino’s strong misgivings, they persuaded Yuuri to take tea with them and even to eat something.

He spoke about Faerie, telling them everything he could recall reading on the subject. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he talked, as though he was prepared to jump to his feet and run away to go see the place for himself any minute.

“If I did not have the benefit of knowing you better,” the captain declared, “then I would have suspected you of enjoying a chance to explore places you have only ever read about before.”

Yuuri paled and, despite her light tone, spent the rest of his visit mulling over those words with a frown on his face.

At last, as the clock struck nine, the women bade him goodnight and watched him leave the same way he had come.

“Did I hear him correctly?” Miss Crispino asked her fiancée. “Did he say that all the mirrors were connected by roads he could walk?”

“He did,” Captain Mila confirmed, not taking her eyes off the mirror.

Miss Crispino left the room and the captain heard her give orders to her servants to have the mirrors in her rooms removed, save the one Yuuri had arrived by.

The captain shook her head and joined her out in the corridor with a smile. “My love, you need not fear anything from him,” she assured her fiancée.

Miss Crispino turned to face her. “How can you be so certain? Did you not listen to a word he said? Did you not observe the way in which he said it?”

The captain recalled the excitement in Yuuri’s eyes, the energy with which he spoke of his plans and the story he told of Victor’s disappearance and gave a slight shake of her head. “No, my love, I know Yuuri from the war. He would often do odd things. Most of us were baffled by his actions, but, in my experience, there always came a time afterwards when we understood what he had done.” She took Miss Crispino’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I have seen how extraordinary his magic can be and I can certainly attest that he is an honourable and trustworthy man.”

Miss Crispino gave a heavy sigh. “If you are so certain, how can I possibly argue?”

Captain Mila, who had argued with Miss Crispino on a number of subjects after their engagement, kept silent.

 

There were no mirrors in the library in Yuuri’s house in Yorkshire and he did not risk entering through a mirror in a different room and making his way into the library. Having broken free from his and Victor’s parents he refused to return to the house at all.

It did not occur to him that his parents worried about his whereabouts, or even that they questioned all of the servants and all of the neighbours to try and find where he had gone.

He did not know that while he continued his search for a way to rescue Victor his parents spent sleepless nights worrying where he had gone and wondering if they would ever see him again. Nor did they know that Mrs. Nikiforov blamed herself for his absence, convinced that Yuuri had taken it into his head that they all blamed him for what had befallen Victor and had gone who knew where to possibly attempt the unspeakable.

Mari alone did not worry, or rather – she did not worry, but not half as much as everyone else. She was certain that Yuuri was now in Faerie, fighting to free Victor and would soon return with his husband and everything would return to the way it had always been.

 

Yuuri came time and again, persuaded by the two women to take tea with them and taking pleasure in their company. One evening he arrived when the captain was absent and sat alone with Miss Crispino, half-wishing he could leave without making his reason for leaving her very obvious.

Miss Crispino spoke about London, telling Yuuri about her various acquaintances, but he nodded absent-mindedly without really listening to her words. She then questioned him on his acquaintances, but he had little to offer to satisfy her curiosity.

“To tell the truth,” he admitted at last, “Victor is the one who keeps regular correspondence with all of our acquaintances.” He recalled then how when he first saw how many letters Victor wrote each week he was convinced that Victor wrote to every person he had ever met.

For a while Miss Crispino was silent. She remembered Victor’s letters, how well he wrote them and how interesting they always were. She had always looked forward to hearing from him.

The subject of their last few letters came to her mind and she wondered if Victor had shown them to Yuuri, but a moment’s thought was enough to convince her that, if he had, Yuuri had most likely forgotten about them.

“Tomorrow I will pay a visit to my aunt,” she began. “I do not behave I told you about her.”

Yuuri smiled as politeness said he should and replied that no, he had not been told about Miss Crispino’s aunt. The magician’s attention began to wonder as he asked himself why anyone would like to tell him about their relations and he missed the first part of Miss Crispino’s tale. When, however, a word said by her caught his attention it took him some time to understand what the tale was about and even then he formed a very confused image in his mind.

Miss Crispino’s tale was as follows:

In the days of her youth, her aunt had been a very accomplished young woman. Blessed with beauty, intelligence and an excellent memory, she had no difficulty in learning anything that caught her fancy. After studying all of the usual subjects of interest from music to drawing, she went on to study all of the major languages in Europe and quickly became proficient in all of them. She learned ancient Greek, Hebrew and Latin, and became equally proficient in those languages. It was said that when she met a Frenchman, for instance, she could speak his language so well as to make him believe that it was her native tongue. A German and an Italian would be likewise fooled, along with all the other representatives of the countries whose languages she had taken the trouble to learn.

One day she met a young man who equalled her in gifts as well as appetite for life. Without deliberating for too long, they married and together they gambled away all of their fortune and lost their good health in the pursuit of various pleasures.

Before either of them turned forty, she watched her husband die on the cold stones of a street in the poorest part of London. For many years afterwards she wandered the city like a lost spirit. She forgot all she had learned, she forgot the major European languages, forgot ancient Greek, Hebrew and Latin. There was only one language she could speak now and that was the language of cats.

Miss Crispino laughed. That had been Captain Mila’s expression. She had paid a visit to Miss Crispino’s aunt with Miss Crispino herself once and had found the visit both peculiar and very interesting.

Lost amid the streets of London was how Miss Crispino had found her. The woman was not in actual fact her aunt, but Miss Crispino preferred to refer to her in that way.

She found people willing to take her in and provide for her in return for the payment of a small sum and then paid the woman herself regular visits to make certain that she did not want for anything. Despite all her attempts at a conversation with the woman, even when asking her what she most desired, the woman never said a single word to her and, while Miss Crispino was certain that what she had done was a good deed, she could not help suspecting that if she had done nothing at all it would have made no difference to the old woman.

“I fear that the poor old woman has lost command of her wits,” Miss Crispino admitted. “Or, perhaps, she merely gives that impression, I do not know, but when I was there I could not help the thought that she is convinced that she is a cat.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she uttered those words, but since Yuuri had missed the beginning of her tale, he had failed to understand the meaning of those words as well and merely nodded, attempting to look as though he heard it all.

Miss Crispino was silent for a long time afterwards, lost in a contemplation of all she had said. When at last she did speak, she asked, “Can magic cure madness?”

Her eyes fixed sharply on Yuuri’s face, making him sit up straighter and feel alarmed, as though he feared she would strike him.

He remembered Lord Yuri, who everyone had dismissed as mad, while he suffered under a strong enchantment, so strong in fact that it made it very difficult – almost impossible – for Yuuri to remain in the same room as His Lordship.

 

_Lord Yuri sat with a furious look in his eyes. The magician knew there was only one person before him, but his eyes told him that there were two people sitting in the same spot._

_Both of them regarded him with the same fury and hatred in their eyes, but while one of them spoke, determined that Yuuri should leave at once, the other sat very still and said nothing. Yuuri knew that the second one could not speak if he wanted to – there was a rose on his mouth, a silencing spell that was beyond Yuuri’s abilities to break._

He remembered that he had been asked a question and forced his thoughts to return to the present. “In all of my studies I have never once stumbled into a spell to cure madness,” he began slowly and warmed to his subject as he continued. “That is not to say that magicians have never encountered mad people, but, from what I have read, it would appear that they never viewed madness as an affliction.”

Miss Crispino rose to her feet and walked to the window. Startled by this, Yuuri went silent.

“What do you think of madness?” she asked after a lengthy pause, turning to face him. Shadows fell over her face, obscuring it from view, but Yuuri did not stop to wonder at what the expression on her face could be.

“It is, without a doubt, very sad,” he answered. “To watch your loved one lose command of their own mind,” he thought of Lord Yuri and Sir Otabek, “must be one of the most painful experiences that life has to offer.”

Miss Crispino returned to her seat. “I can tell by your tone that there is more than that.”

He gave a slight nod at this. “Magicians never saw madmen as nuisances, or as people who needed curing. To them madness was…” he went over all the passages he had read that could shed light on the subject in his mind, “…something to be revered, perhaps. Something to be preserved, certainly.”

“Preserved?” Miss Crispino echoed, looking alarmed.

Yuuri hesitated, suspecting that she was about to ring for a servant, but he went on as a scholar determined to explain and win the argument. “They believe that madness enabled people to see more. Mad people, for instance, were often befriended by faeries.” He saw the smile on her face and hastened to add, “Oh, there are testimonies from several sane witnesses to that, let me assure you!”

Miss Crispino remained silent.

“Some magicians believed that sanity constrained the mind, making it harder for the magician to do magic and so they would go off and seek to become mad.” He paused as an idea occurred to him, but he caught himself before he could utter it aloud.

He remembered that Miss Crispino was right there in front of him and would hear every word he said. He was certain that everything he said would be repeated to the captain, which would, in turn, lead to more difficulties, perhaps even confinement. He enjoyed the company of both women, but decided then that telling them about his plans would serve no purpose.

_No, they will merely attempt to dissuade me from them,_ he thought irritably. _What would the great scientists have said, if they were thus foiled at every turn and prevented from attempting anything because it was not proper?_ The question rang in his mind and he attempted to answer it himself, forgetting that he was the one who had posed it.

_Some measure of propriety must be kept,_ he told himself and then agreed with himself. Yes, that sounded reasonable enough.

Miss Crispino watched him smile and frown and give a curt nod and considered ringing for a servant.

“How does one seek to become mad?” she asked, prepared to summon a servant.

The question made Yuuri think in silence for several minutes. “I imagine that in the time of the Raven King they would set off on a long journey with that aim in mind, a journey through a wild countryside…” His voice trailed off. He had to admit that he knew very little on the subject.

He remembered the bridges that connected all of the mirrors. A journey out there, alone in those barren fields was bound to drive anyone insane after enough time.

_I don’t have time for all of that!_ he thought impatiently. _If it is true that madness increases a person’s capacity for magic, then I need to become mad quickly._

“I imagine that there are other ways available now,” he said as a thought occurred to him. “The apothecary must have draughts that could do as much in a shorter time.”

Miss Crispino frowned. “Is that wise? There must be other methods for increasing one’s magic, surely!”

_There is no time,_ Yuuri thought in desperation. _How much time had I already lost trying one method after another?_ The thought was as clear in his mind as though someone had said it aloud. _I must not alarm her,_ he realized. He affected a laugh. “Or so I imagine, but being mad pose several problems.”

Miss Crispino’s hand reached for the bell. “Does it really?” she asked in a pleasant tone of voice, but her eyes betrayed the fear she felt.

“Yes,” Yuuri nodded, continuing to speak in the tones a scholar uses when conversing about a serious subject they had studied for a long time. “It makes performing magic almost impossible. You need to be in full command of yourself to make certain that your spells do what they should.”

_Or perhaps you do not,_ it occurred to him. _Perhaps the aptitude itself is enough as well as a memory of what you desire._

Miss Crispino’s face spread in a pleasant smile. “So why would a magician seek to be mad?”

“I did not say that a magician would,” Yuuri explained, “only that some did. But, why are we speaking about such gloomy subjects? Let us speak of something else. Tell me – how is Captain Mila?”

This change of subject brought with it a look of relief to Miss Crispino’s face and she spoke with great tenderness of her fiancée, encouraged by Yuuri’s smiles and questions.

Once the clock struck nine she watched Yuuri rise to his feet and head for the mirror as he bade her goodnight. He stepped into the glass and his figure vanished in the distance as though he had walked away down an ordinary road.

The odd conversation slipped out of her memory entirely and only the visit to her aunt reminded her of it at all. By happy chance, she was with the captain at the time and used the opportunity presented to her to recount as much as she could remember of it.

“How strange!” the captain exclaimed once Miss Crispino finished recounting their conversation to her. “Would anyone really seek to become mad?”

She watched Miss Crispino make several adjustments to her hair and dress, and together they left to pay a visit to her aunt, but when they arrived they were too late.

 

Yuuri walked the streets of York and wondered how a person could go about procuring madness. Was it at all possible?

He slipped into bookstores and searched for his answer in books about poisons, but when he found it at last, it proved more difficult to find an apothecary that would provide him with what he desired.

“I refuse to sell this!” one of them declared. “It brings about madness!

“That is what I want!” Yuuri insisted. “I _want_ madness!”

The apothecary gave him a look that spoke plainly of his bewilderment and pushed the magician out onto the street.

Furious, Yuuri set out in search for another apothecary. Victor would have succeeded in buying what he needed no matter what the apothecary’s misgivings, he was sure of it.

After ten such quarrels he was forced to admit that no one would do as he asked and he had no choice but to find another way.

Again he turned to books, but this time they were unable to find a solution for him.

Late at night, when he lay in his bed, exhausted by his searches, but unable to sleep, it came to him. He remembered about Miss Crispino’s aunt and a plan formed in his mind.

 

Night claimed London once more, bringing peace and rest for some, and distress – for others.

Yuuri stood in a dark shadow, watching the house on the opposite side of the street.

All day the family who lived in the house that had attracted his attention came and went. The father walked with a slow and measured pace, as if each step was a coin he was reluctant to spend. The mother only left once and returned almost as soon as she left, in a hurry to return home to her household duties. The children – of which he saw three – spent most of the day playing games in the street.

Yuuri waited until he could be certain that Miss Crispino would not come and, at last, when the hour grew late he slipped into the house.

A glance to his right offered him a view of the father seated at a table, writing by the light of a single candle. Someone spoke in a voice just quiet enough to make it impossible for Yuuri to distinguish a word they said and the father raised his head to reply.

The house was full of the sounds of people moving about and speaking to each other. Someone walked above the magician’s head.

A staircase rose to Yuuri’s left. He paused on the first step before gathering his courage and ascending the staircase, one hand on the wall in case he should fall in the dark.

The house had four floors, each of which was broken up into rooms so small that a few steps were enough to get you from one end to the other, and, yet, each room was occupied. The walls must have been as thin as paper: every smell, every sound had no trouble passing through them.

Yuuri stumbled into two of the tenants on the stairs, but they greeted him as if they saw him walk past them every day. In that moment they were all of them convinced that Yuuri was one of the other tenants of the house, such was the effect of the magic he had performed.

He continued up the stairs until he reached the landing at the very top with a small wooden door that swung shakily under Yuuri’s touch.

The room was full of cats. They covered every available space – the floor, the furniture. Some of them were asleep, while others were grooming themselves. A few were watching their surroundings, as though determined to make a thorough study of all of them. The air was thick with the smell of cats. In the middle of the room, an elderly woman sat in an old wooden chair. A cat perched on the back of her chair.

Yuuri hesitated, caught by surprise of a sight as peculiar as the one before him. He lowered his eyes and was about to make his apologies and leave, when his eyes were arrested by the sight of a silver cat who sat a little way apart from the others and groomed himself. He sat with a lot of dignity for a cat and something about the way he groomed himself made one think that he was doing it in the hopes that someone would see him and exclaim, “What a beautiful cat!”

The magician stepped closer to the old woman, but she continued to ignore his presence. “Good evening, madam,” he began in a voice that shook, but grew steadier with each word. “Unfortunately, my friend – Miss Crispino – is not here to introduce us. My name is Yuuri Katsuki and I regret to admit that Miss Crispino forgot to tell me yours.”

The old woman continued to act as though he was not in the room and had not addressed her.

“I have heard your story and am very sorry for the fate that had befallen you, but I believe that we can help each other.”

Still the woman made no sign of having noticed his presence.

“If you could help me, then I will grant your heart’s desire,” Yuuri went on. The silence was beginning to terrify him, but he kept speaking, unable to stop and determined to get what he had come for and leave.

All the cats in the room began meowing, startling Yuuri and making him throw looks of alarm about himself. He feared they would spring on him, but their attention was drawn by something else.

There was a new cat standing on the windowsill. It held a dead mouse in its mouth.

Yuuri turned away in disgust and saw that the old woman was watching with hunger in her eyes. This unexpected change in her countenance made Yuuri lose all power of speech. He stepped back and watched the new cat make its way among the other to stop right before the old woman and lower the mouse onto her lap.

She licked her lips and reached her hand out to take it.

Yuuri seized the mouse and pulled it out of her reach. “Please, madam,” he attempted to reason with her, “if you could hold off your dinner to listen to what I have to say to you, I would be very obliged.”

She made an angry hiss as her eyes followed the mouse, still not sparing his face a single glance.

Yuuri did his best to avoid worrying about the mouse in his hand. “Please,” he entreated her once more, doing his best to try to catch her eye, “I promise that this will not take a lot of your time. Will you help me?”


	12. Are You Not Afraid it will Go Out?

The old woman ceased hissing and Yuuri took it as a sign of her consent.

“Thank you,” he said to her. “I know that many would consider this unwise, but as few of them have lost as much as I have, their opinion matters very little to me.” He paused as he considered what to do next. “First, I will require something of yours.” His eyes swept over her, taking in the sorry state of her clothes, her wrinkled hands and finally her face. She wore no rings, no jewelry at all that he could see.

His attention returned to the mouse in his hand. “I will have to make do with this,” he decided.

He uttered a spell over the old lady and she began to change. First she took on the shape of a woman of forty years with a weary look, but with more energy than before. Next she was replaced by a woman of thirty, still full of all the strength of life, her long chestnut brown hair falling loosely about her shoulders. A woman of twenty took her place, beautiful and strong, with a regal air like that of a princess. She did not stay long and was then replaced by a girl of sixteen who regarded Yuuri with an angry expression.

He knew at once that they were all of them the same person – the old woman he had come to visit.

After another moment the young girl vanished as well. A pile of clothes lay on the old woman’s chair. Something moved inside it and a grey cat slipped out. She jumped down onto a free patch of the floor, made her way to the window and was gone.

Yuuri raised the dead mouse by its tail and gave it a weary look. What did the Raven King have to endure for the sake of English magic?

But then, what did it matter what befell him, if he could rescue Victor? Was his sanity not a small price to pay in exchange for that?

He wondered next if he would know if he was mad, or if he would have to try to think mad thoughts and see if they appeared sane to him now. Not finding an answer to this, but certain that the more he delayed the less determined he became, he lowered the mouse into his own mouth.

It was as though a thousand trumpets sounded at once and someone plunged his head under the tallest waterfall. All his senses were amplified and he was suddenly aware of all manner of feelings, which he had never been aware of before. He was filled with the memories of a thousand lifetimes. There were new fears, new plans and new affections in his heart. There was someone plotting against him who needed to be stopped. There was somewhere that he needed to be.

There was something large and unpleasant in his mouth. He needed to get it out. He spat it out and the sight in his eyes faded away as he fell to the ground.

He awoke, feeling as though a dozen cats were crawling all over his body. When he opened his eyes he discovered that this was indeed the case. By a happy coincidence his arm had landed on the dead mouse when he fell and he had succeeded in rescuing it from all the cats. He sat up and took it very carefully with both hands, as though it were a treasure of some kind.

The old woman had been very mad indeed. He could not hope to do any magic at all in such a state, certainly not any magic meant to rescue Victor.

The cats circled around him, all of them eyeing the mouse and begging him to give it to them. He rose to his feet, holding the mouse above his head.

The room horrified him and he ran out onto the staircase, desperate to leave it at once. Yuuri was unsteady on his feet and he clung on to the railing to keep himself upright as he rushed down the steps.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Yuuri stumbled into a tenant returning to his room just as he reached the last flight of stairs. As the other tenants before, he greeted Yuuri like an acquaintance of several years.

Yuuri stepped out onto the street and breathed in the cool night air. It was dark now – no candles burned in any of the windows and the street was made mostly of shadows. Only the stars and the moon gave any light, but Yuuri only needed to make a few steps before he slipped into a house whose mirror he had made use of before.

 

The same moon shone down over York, peering in through the window of Yuuri’s room where the magician considered what to do with the mouse. Perhaps a tincture would be best – that way he could control the amount of madness every time and it was far more pleasant to drink a tincture than to try to swallow a mouse every time he needed to do magic.

He hid the mouse away and spent all night worrying that someone would slip into his rooms in the night and steal it. He became convinced that the world was full of wicked thieves who did nothing but steal from others and meant to retrieve it to hide it under his pillow, but exhaustion made rising impossible and sleep pulled him into the dark before he could rise from his bed.

 

_Victor reclined in a chair in one of the rooms of Lost Hope. His face betrayed every sign of fatigue. His jacket was draped over his chair and jewels lay discarded on the table. His right hand was resting over his heart, as though to slow its beating, or perhaps to shield it from something or someone. Moonlight fell in through the window, making the wedding band on his finger gleam._

_Yuuri stepped closer to Victor, but his husband remained deep in his sleep. The magician pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek…_

Victor awoke. His heavy eyelids refused to rise, but when at last he did open them he could see that the room around him was empty. His jacket and his jewels remained on the table where he had left them before he had collapsed in the chair.

His eyelids dropped once more and a feeling of deep disappointment swept over him right before sleep reclaimed him once more.

 

Yuuri turned over and awoke. His questing hands moved over the bedsheets, searching for someone. When at last they reached the cold wall he opened his eyes and stared at the place beside him.

He lay alone in his bed.

 _Victor must have risen early,_ he decided. _He must be waiting for me at breakfast now, wondering when I will come and join him._

Then at last he remembered that Victor was not waiting for him at breakfast, that he had been cruelly stolen away, torn away from Yuuri’s side by a faerie who cared only for his own amusement.

Yuuri covered his face with his hands as despair gripped his heart once more. The feeling had become so familiar to him that the sting was no more than a dull pain now. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as he shook.

Only the memory of what he had to do was powerful enough to make him rise from his bed and prepare to go out. He washed himself and changed into a clean set of clothes.

Two hours later he returned to his rooms with enough receptacles to please an alchemist – there were glass beakers of every imaginable shape and size.

He set off to work at once, separating the mouse’s bones away from its body and then reducing it to a white powder, which he mixed in a small flask of brandy he had bought that same day. He had seen the proper instructions for doing this in several books of magic, but could recall none of them now and had to make do with inventing his own. The tincture smelled mostly of brandy now, which almost helped him forget what it had once been.

He filled a glass with water and very carefully added nine drops of tincture to it. He downed the contents of the glass and was filled at once with the desire to leave his rooms and take a stroll down the streets of York.

A tall man all dressed in black walked towards him and a light gleamed in his eyes. As soon as he drew close to Yuuri the magician saw that the light was from a candle that burned behind the man’s eyes.

A woman came behind him and she, too, had a candle burning behind her eyes.

Yuuri then found that he could no longer remember if there had always been candles burning in people’s heads or not, but he knew that there was a world of difference between the two – one was sane and the other was not, but which one was it?

As he worried about this question, he was overcome with a strong desire to blow someone’s candle out merely to see what would happen.

Some spark of sanity that remained inside him advised him against this. There would be no end of trouble if he did this, he was certain. Trouble would only attract unwanted attention and that could bring his and Victor’s parents here.

 _Such tedious people!_ he thought. _Why must I – England’s only practical magician – hide from a handful of old people?_

The absurdity of his situation struck him so strongly then that he nearly turned around to return to the inn, gather his belongings and reclaim his house for himself.

He recalled then how empty it was around the house, how rarely he got an opportunity to see anyone apart from his tiresome neighbours and decided to remain in York. Let the parents keep the house for themselves, what did he care?

He contented himself with entering one of the restaurants with the aim of having lunch and sat down at one of the tables with a happy smile on his face, which faded when he saw that the waiters all had candles in their heads. The man and woman sitting closest to him had candles in their heads as well and the old man who sat in the corner of the room had the inconvenience of a candle that flickered most alarmingly in his head. It kept drawing Yuuri’s eyes to him, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else.

“What would sir like for dinner?” a waiter asked, bending over the table and bringing his candle close to Yuuri’s face, as though tempting him to blow the flame out.

He started and frowned at the menu. Very soon he discovered that it was all written in a different language and was about to ask the waiter why a small town in England had a restaurant with no English menus when his eye fell on the candle once more.

“Tell me,” he asked, “are you not afraid it will go out?”

“What will go out?” the waiter repeated in surprise. He made a quick step backwards, but the candle’s flame remained steady.

“The candle,” Yuuri explained.

The waiter looked about him at the room illuminated by the bleak light of day falling in from the windows. There was not a single candle in sight. Taking the visitor for a foreigner, he promised, “We will light candles once it gets dark.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to explain the meaning of his words and changed his mind. He was very hungry, he realized, and did not wish to wait longer than was necessary. “Bring me food,” he said, eyed the menu once more, but still found that he could not read a word in it. “Pork,” he said, not certain if it was on the menu or not.

The waiter bowed and left.

Yuuri did his best to keep his eyes on his hands. He found that the sight of the candles unsettled him and he longed to return to his rooms where he would not have to see any more candles.

As soon as he finished his meal and paid for it, he ran back to his rooms where he collapsed on his bed and held his pillow over his head to try and dismiss all thoughts about people and candles.

What did the candles mean? What were they for? Was there a candle in his head? This last question made him curl up and weep with fear. What if he discovered that there was no candle in his own head? What did that mean?

Only when it began to grow dark outside did a sense of peace come over him. What did it matter if people had candles in their heads? It had no bearing on his magic whatsoever. People could have as many candles in their heads as they liked – it made no difference to him.

 

The following morning when he woke up he was certain that people did not have candles in their heads and when he stepped out onto the street he felt a sense of relief when he could no longer see them. The candles were part of the madness, he decided and consoled himself with the thought that the tincture had worked.

 _The trouble with the tincture is that it is always difficult to judge when the effects have worn off completely,_ he thought. _Nine drops was far too much. All that nonsense with the candles is distracting me from my main goal. I will try less next time._

He returned to the inn to take breakfast and, judging the effects to have worn off completely, he added seven drops to his tea before downing the cup’s contents in one gulp.

He looked about himself, curious to see how the world would change this time, but everything remained much as it had been. Were the colours of his surroundings a little paler? No, that was merely his imagination, he was certain.

A knock on the door interrupted these musings.

“Come in,” Yuuri called out.

The landlord walked in. He began to say something, but Yuuri could make neither head, nor tail of it because the man had a pineapple stuffed in his mouth.

Yuuri watched him with mounting frustration. The man was obviously suffering, but then why had he done it? _The fault is all his own_ , Yuuri thought irritably, _if he wishes to stick pineapples in his own mouth!_

He wanted to ask the man if he required his help to get it out, but – to Yuuri’s surprise – the innkeeper was not in the least bit alarmed and was perfectly at ease as he spoke.

 _Perhaps he enjoys having pineapples in his mouth,_ Yuuri decided, _but why come here with it?_

The innkeeper stopped talking and stood as though waiting for a response.

“Yes,” Yuuri said, hoping it would satisfy the man and make him leave.

The innkeeper bowed and left just as Yuuri had hoped.

Yuuri was suddenly filled with a dread of pineapples. He recalled how Victor used to order them and one specific time when he had the misfortune of cutting his finger on one of the pineapple’s thick leaves. The world was full of pineapples. They were everywhere, in every restaurant, in every home and there was no escape from them.

Yuuri curled up on the bed, facing the wall and shuddered at the thought of so many pineapples. It made him weep in fear and then he remembered Victor and that he had been stolen away and he wept even harder. There was no hope for the world, no hope at all if there were all these pineapples!

 

He awoke on the morning of the following day and fretted over the memory of the day before. A walk would do him good, he decided, and took a stroll through the streets until he stumbled into a market full of all manner of fruits and vegetables.

As he passed a man cutting up a pineapple he gave an involuntary shudder, but a second glance told him that it was merely a pear which he had mistaken for a pineapple.

 _No, this will not do at all!_ he thought. _Now I will see the wretched things wherever I go! All this fear of pineapples and candles is only getting in my way! I need but a little madness! This is far too much._

He returned and took his breakfast in his rooms, ordering two cups of tea this time. Once he finished eating, he added three drops to his tea and downed the contents of the cup.

The effect was almost immediate. He straightened up and gave the room an unsatisfied look. The maid had obviously not cleaned in here properly, but his mortification at this was nothing when compared to the mortification he felt upon approaching a mirror and taking in the sight of his reflection. A rugged fellow with an unshaven face stared back at him. His necktie was askew. His clothing was filthy.

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I look like a scarecrow. What would Victor think, if he could see me like this?”

He set off in search of clean clothes at once and stopped at a barber’s for a shave and a haircut.

Upon his return he gave his reflection a critical inspection before nodding in satisfaction at what he saw. He smiled at his reflection. No person could withstand a smile like that, he was certain. Now he was ready to leave and search for all the pleasures York had to offer.

More than that, he doubted whether there was a single person in all of York who deserved his attentions. He recalled how ugly the passersby in the streets had been, how they always eyed him with jealousy in their eyes, envying him his great beauty.

“Of course they are jealous!” he exclaimed out loud. “I am more clever than they are and handsomer too!” He struck a confident pose before the mirror. “Who can hope to compete with… How odd! I cannot remember my name!”

The realization knocked some measure of his confidence out of him. How could he have forgotten his own name? It was a beautiful name and he was certain that Victor often called him by it. All he could remember in that moment was that it started with an “E”. Now, what could it possibly be? Edward? Eugene? No, no, his name was far better than something as awkward-sounding as Edward or Eugene.

He sighed and met his reflection’s gaze. “Victor would know,” he told the man in the mirror. “Victor always knew everything and he was not one for wasting another person’s time with nonsense when one asked him a question. Yes, he would tell me what it is at once. He had the softest way of saying it that would make my heart turn over with joy.” His face darkened. “That cursed faerie took him away and now he thinks he has gotten the better of me! I will steal Victor away from him and make him hate me!”

His reflection nodded in agreement.

A recollection made Yuuri laugh. “That foolish magician cannot figure out how to get into Faerie when it is the simplest thing in the world!”

His amusement at this was so great that he almost danced about the room.

He stopped laughing and gave his reflection an irritated look. “Why should I help the magician? Let him figure everything out himself as he trembles in fear of old Mrs. Nikiforov! Watching him do magic is like watching a man sit down to dinner with his jacket on backwards!” He laughed at this image and congratulated himself on his wit.

At last he stopped, his eyes drawn by the wedding band on his finger. “I wish Victor was here,” he said softly. “When I think about him I have a pain here,” he raised his hand to his head, “and here,” he lowered it to his heart, “and I know that a single smile from Victor would cure me from both pains.”

He gave a heavy sigh, walked over to the mirror, stopped, uttered the words of a spell and walked through the mirror. This time he walked out through the mirror in Victor’s dressing room. There he paused to look around himself.

In the corner a pair of Victor’s gloves lay discarded from the last time when he wore them. Yuuri picked them up and held them to his cheek. They still held the faint sent of Victor’s perfume. “I will find you,” he promised in a whisper, feeling a stinging in his heart.

His eye fell on the window and he stepped closer to peer out at the garden behind his house. The first buds of spring were beginning to appear on the trees. How many days had passed since Victor had been stolen away?

He spoke to the trees and they said a single word in reply, “Yes.” Next, he posed the same question to the stones and they too responded with a single word, “Yes.” Finally he directed his question to the river that flowed over his land. “Yes!” the river answered.

Yuuri placed a hand on the glass with a smile. All of the old alliances were still in place

Yuuri turned away from the window and stepped back up to the mirror. He pressed his fingers to his mouth and then let his fingertips rest on the mirror’s surface. “I am coming for you, Victor,” he promised.

 

The dances in Lost Hope were interminably long and dull. They were enough to teach anyone to detest dancing, no matter how much that person had loved to dance before. The music cut off abruptly and the gentleman with the thistle-down hair stopped partway through a turn to scowl.

“Did you feel that?” he asked his partner. “It is as though the whole world shook!”

Victor said nothing. He looked on with slight puzzlement as if the words the gentleman had said meant nothing to him. In his chest his heart beat fast and he struggled for breath.

The gentleman’s hand still held Victor’s. Now it gave a painful squeeze, his long nails digging into Victor’s skin, but Victor gave no cry, continuing to suppress his feelings.

“The trees do not answer me anymore!” the gentleman screamed. “The stones! The water! None of them are answering me! To _me_!” His voice grew loud and dangerous.

The dancers melted away, leaving only Victor and Lord Yuri with the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

A flock of black birds burst into the hall. Victor released the gentleman’s hand and walked out among them. The ravens all circled around him and he fancied he could hear Yuuri’s voice whisper, “I am coming.”

He turned his head and his eyes shone as he gave Lord Yuri a meaningful glance.

“This is the work of the magician!” the gentleman cried. “Always he is determined to thwart me in everything that I do! He will ruin me! When will I be rid of him at last?”

Victor walked back to the gentleman and took him by both hands. “Will you do me the honour of dancing with me?” he asked.

The gentleman shot him an angry look. “Dance? This is not the time for dancing!”

Lord Yuri walked over to them with his head raised proudly. “He has no wish to dance with you!” he declared to Victor and took the gentleman’s hands with his own. “He will dance with me.”

The gentleman watched them argue, unable to decide in his mind which of them he wished to lead into the next dance. “Music!” he demanded and another melody began to play as sorrowful as before, but both Victor and Lord Yuri danced with a renewed energy, forgetting about their aching feet.

Yuuri was coming.

 

Mrs. Nikiforov entered the breakfast room and was amazed to discover Yuuri sitting at the table and eating as though he had never gone. She thought of the many sleepless nights passed in worry and in terror for him as she took in his appearance. She thought of the searches they had carried out and the neighbours they had quarrelled with over his absence. She said nothing, however, glad to see him at last.

Yuuri was better dressed than he had been when she had last seen him and there was every sign of him having gone to great lengths to improve his appearance.

She looked around the room, searching for Victor, but – apart from a servant – there was no one else with Yuuri. Mrs. Nikiforov opened her mouth to ask if Victor had returned as well when Yuuri took a flask from his inside pocket of something that she took for brandy and added a careful drop of it to his tea.

At once the room filled with the smell of cats, making Mrs. Nikiforov shudder and look about her in alarm, expecting to find cats prowling about the room.

“There is no need to stand on ceremony,” Yuuri said. “Come and join me, mother.”

He made no turn of his head. There was no mirror before him and so Mrs. Nikiforov could not understand how he had perceived her entering the room. The manner of his address surprised her as well. Until that moment, never once had he addressed her as mother.

She joined him at the table and continued to make note of all the changes that had come over him.

“Where have you been?” she asked at last. “We were all ill with worry. Have you seen Victor? Can you bring him back?”

Yuuri finished his meal and reclined in his seat with an air of confidence that bordered on impudence. If it had not been for the familiarity of his features, his manner would have made Mrs. Nikiforov take him for a stranger she had never met.

“I have,” he answered her at last.

She waited for the answer to her other questions, but no such answer came.

Yuuri studied his fingernails and the feeling that this was someone else strengthened in Mrs. Nikiforov’s heart. She thought of magic, remembered the story of an impostor and her worry increased. Was this an impostor before her now? A lopsided grin spread across his face and she felt her blood run cold.

“He wanted to come here,” Yuuri – or, perhaps, the person who merely shared his features – said. “He was frightened, but still he wished to come.”

Mrs. Nikiforov puzzled over the meaning of those words. It was nonsense, pure and simple she told herself.

Yuuri leaned towards her. “He wanted you to have hope and remembered too late that you would worry about his whereabouts.” Yuuri threw his head back with a cold, harsh laugh. “You drove him out and he comes to you to apologize! How like the coward!”

“Who are you talking about?” she asked, determined not to call for help.

He leaned closer again as if to confide a great secret in her and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Tell me,” he whispered, “are you not afraid it will go out?”

She jumped to her feet. “Yuuri! What is the meaning of this nonsense? Do you think…” the rest of the words got caught in her throat. Kind and gentle Yuuri would never frighten her merely for sport. This was an impostor. It had to be!

The impostor rose to his feet with a mad gleam in his eye. “I would, of course, love to remain here to have further pleasure of speaking with you, dear _mother_ , but Victor is waiting for me and it is bad manners to make a beautiful man wait.”

She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, or to even reach out and take him by the hand to prevent him from going.

He walked to the door and stopped to turn around and give her another sly look. “If Mr. Ji writes again, asking for more advice on magic in that dull-witted way of his, tell him…” he paused, “tree speaks to stone, stone speaks to water. Tell him that magic had never left England, but that everyone was merely too blind to see it.”

With that he left, as though his words were a sufficient explanation for anything and no more needed to be said.

Mrs. Nikiforov felt her legs tremble under her and dropped into a chair, wishing she could follow after him.

 

Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia, upon hearing of Victor’s death resolved to travel to Yorkshire to bring Yuuri their condolences. They had been south of London when the news had reached them and so it was some time before they could return to North England.

They passed the long hours of the journey in conversations about magic. Perhaps, it would have been an argument if it had not been for both men’s willingness to agree with any claim the other person made. They were both just on the point of abandoning yet another point of view in favour of that of the other person when the carriage came to a stop.

Both men exchanged a look and climbed out to see what the matter was. Both feared that a bridge on the road ahead had crumbled from wear, but there was nothing more than a fork in the road.

“What is the matter?” Mr. Ji asked the coachman.

The coachman nodded at the place where one road became two. “I have passed this way many times before. I remember every bend of the road in these parts. There was always only one road here. Where could the second one have come from?”

This was very strange indeed. Both men walked very carefully towards the new road and studied it for several moments in silence. The road looked like an ordinary stone road. It disappeared into a wood, making it impossible to determine where it lead.

“A road cannot appear overnight,” Mr. Ji reasoned in a low whisper. “What can this mean?”

“Shall we try to discover where it leads?” Mr. de la Iglesia asked.

Mr. Ji gave him a frightened glance. “How can we do that? No doubt the road goes on for some way yet. Are you suggesting we instruct the coachman to drive along it until we discover its secret? That could take a few days’ travel!”

Mr. de la Iglesia faltered between his curiosity and his duty to Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov. But, then, he reasoned they will turn around as soon as they learn where the road loads. “If this is a new road,” Mr. de la Iglesia reasoned, “then it cannot be long. We will, no doubt, see it continue until we see that it leads to a newly-built estate and then we can continue our journey.”

Mr. Ji consented to this plan with great reluctance, having no wish to quarrel with his friend, but at the same time filled with a strong foreboding for where the road might lead. At last, unable to resist the mystery, he gave a nod of consent.

They told the coachman their plan and he took them down the new road and into the wood as both men leaned out of the windows of the carriage to see where the road would end.

They passed a great many trees, but after some time the forest began to recede and they found themselves in new surroundings, which were entirely foreign to them.

Snakes curled about the branches of the trees that rose on either side of the road and corpses dressed in armor lay on the ground.

A castle rose on one side of the road. Both men stared at it in amazement. A woman’s figure appeared in one of the windows. She regarded them with a calm expression on her face, as though it mattered very little to her who passed this way and whether they wished to call on her.

The carriage stopped once more. This time the coachman called out to them and they hurried out to see what the matter was now.

A young man stood in the middle of the road with a sword in his hand. He had a gaunt and tired look, and was dressed in a uniform but neither Mr. Ji, nor Mr. de la Iglesia had ever seen a uniform like it before. Still, despite his exhaustion, he assumed an offensive stance.

“Good day, sir,” Mr. de la Iglesia spoke, seeing that Mr. Ji was too shy to come forward and speak himself. “Can you please tell us where we are?” He cast a glance at Mr. Ji and then the coachman before adding, “We appear to have gotten lost.”

“I am the knight of the lady of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart,” the youth announced, raising the sword higher. “I will fight anyone who wishes harm to my lady.”

“Please!” Mr. Ji exclaimed. “We wish no harm to you, or your – that is – this great lady. We give you our word as gentlemen. We merely wished to know where we were.”

But upon hearing that they wished the lady of the castle no harm, the young man lost all interest in them and his eyes fixed upon the road behind them, as though expecting a new traveller to appear any moment.

“Let us return to our road,” Mr. Ji suggested gently.

The coachman nodded in agreement and both men boarded the carriage before it turned around and headed back the way it had come.

“What an odd name!” Mr. de la Iglesia exclaimed. “Never in my life have I heard of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart. It sounds dreadful!”

Mr. Ji looked thoughtful. “I do believe I have,” he admitted after a long pause, “although I cannot recall where it was.”

The loud clatter of a horse’s hooves interrupted the conversation before Mr. de la Iglesia could offer any help to remember where Mr. Ji could have heard the name before. Without stopping to think, Mr. de la Iglesia called out for the coachman to stop and they climbed out of the carriage to see who was coming down the road towards them.

The newcomer arrived on the back of a horse that was bigger than any horse either Mr. Ji or Mr. de la Iglesia have ever seen. He stopped right before the knight and dismounted his horse.

Neither of the travellers could hear what words were exchanged, but the newcomer must have insulted the lady in the castle because both men were soon locked in a battle.

It was over almost as soon as it started. The newcomer pierced the knight through the chest with his sword and watched him fall without uttering a word. He leaned over the corpse, made certain that he was dead and carried him to one of the trees and lay him under it. That done, the newcomer returned to the spot where the knight had stood and raised his sword in case any passing traveller should wish to harm the lady of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart.

Mr. Ji’s gaze travelled to the window just in time to see the lady in the window turn away and disappear into the depths of the castle. He knew then that the newcomer was now the knight of the castle, set to protect her from everyone, but never to enter the castle and meet the lady who lived there.

The two men climbed back into the carriage and continued their journey. Only when they passed through the fork and were well on their way did Mr. Ji understand what they had seen.

 _Could it be?_ he wondered. _Was that Faerie?_

 

Despite the confidence granted him by the tincture, Yuuri made thorough preparations for his journey through Faerie. Uncertain of how long it would be before he reached Victor, he gave orders for a servant to prepare some provisions for his journey.

His pack slung over his shoulder, Yuuri walked down the road leading from his home at an easy pace, following signs only he could see, which promised to lead him directly to Victor.

The road took him out among the hills and into a forest. He followed the road for some time until he came to the place where he had once attempted to find an entrance into Faerie. Where before the road had lost itself in the tall grass and snow now it continued onwards until it dropped into a valley.

The sky over his head turned bleak and grey, and still the road and trees continued on. His journey promised to be long and he had no time to stop and study his surroundings. He hardly spared a thought for where he was now, even though a few months ago he was prepared to give almost anything to be here. Now he was determined to tear Victor out of the heart of Faerie even if it meant destroying all of Faerie.

 

Sir Otabek reached at last that point of marriage when a single glance was enough to tell him about his spouse’s mood. That morning he saw the light of hope in Lord Yuri’s eyes.

He had no way of knowing what had occurred during the course of the night, but for the first time since the early days of their marriage a smile appeared on Lord Yuri’s face at breakfast. He sat with a contented air as he drank his tea and Sir Otabek felt something loosen in his chest. His heart beat faster than ever and his mind began forming plans for the summer without giving him time to think.

When he met with the other ministers his thoughts had remained behind, sitting at breakfast with Lord Yuri. He imagined the two of them venturing to the Lakes for several weeks, remembering that – what with one thing and another – they had never had the pleasure of a voyage together.

Around him the ministers spoke in their usual dry and even tones. Sir Otabek did his best to listen to what they were saying, but it was so difficult to give any of their words due consideration when he knew that Lord Yuri waited for him, confined to an empty house with hardly any way of passing the time.

 _Why do I persist in coming here?_ he asked himself. For a moment his mind reeled at the shock of asking such a question, but then he recovered sufficiently to pose the question to himself a second time and to consider it in his usual serious way.

He had found little pleasure in the debates among the ministers, in which he was but a spectator.

 _I could give this time to Yuri, who needs it more than ever,_ he realized with a sting in his heart.

He imagined rising from his seat and leaving at once, casting all of them aside with their worries, but before he could do this, he noticed a servant slip into the room and make his way to Sir Celestino’s side. He dropped a few words into the minister’s ear that made him turn pale. Sir Celestino sat too far away for Sir Otabek to hear his words, but he saw his lips form the words “Are you certain of this?” and saw the incredulity on the man’s face.

The messenger gave a nod.

Sir Celestino rose to his feet and moved to stand before all the ministers. “Gentlemen, please accept my apologies for this interruption,” he bowed to those who had been speaking but a few moments ago, “but an urgent matter has been called to my attention, which I thought it was my duty to bring to your attention at once.”

The ministers accepted his apology and invited him to speak.

Sir Celestino gathered himself before speaking. “You have all, without a doubt, heard about the faerie roads. In the time of the Raven King they joined England with Faerie, but after the Raven King left his kingdom the roads disappeared with him.” He paused and cast a quick glance at the messenger. “I was just told that word has reached London that the roads have appeared once more.”

A long silence met those words and then everyone exclaimed nearly at the same time. This explosion of emotions was far greater than any Sir Otabek had ever witnessed. His own mind struggled to make sense of what this meant.

Were they to expect magicians to return to England? Was the Raven King himself on his way to reclaim the throne that had waited for over three hundred years for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to celebrate a birthday than to write fic, right?


	13. Place a Moon at His Eyes

Night came and Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia sought for an inn where they could stay until the morning. They were less than a day’s journey away from Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, but after seeing the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart did not dare to travel overnight.

The town they entered was familiar to them and the innkeeper recognized them right away. They got the same rooms as on their last stay. At another time this may have been cause enough for pleasantries, but the events of the day and the knowledge of what awaited them on the next one made them both retire to their rooms in a solemn mood.

After some time they met in the rooms below to take dinner together and sat for a long time in silence before the innkeeper entered the room with an apology for interrupting their meal.

“Is something the matter?” Mr. de la Iglesia asked, alarmed by the manner in which the innkeeper regarded them.

“When you were last here, sirs,” the man began with a bow to both of them, “you told everyone that you were searching for magicians. Is this still true?”

The travellers exchanged a look and assured the innkeeper that this was still the case.

“Have you found a magician?” Mr. Ji asked. Remembering all of the false claims people had made on this score, he did his best to contain his hope.

The innkeeper looked uncertain. “It is not for me to know, but something occurred this morning that sounds like it could be magic.”

The travellers exchanged another look. They both thought about the odd road and the castle, but neither of them could say their thoughts aloud.

“The baker’s and the smith’s daughters met to exchange secrets. You know how children are,” the innkeeper smiled, “they make a great secret out of a mere trifle.”

Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia, who were both unmarried and had forgotten what it was like to be a child, nodded in agreement with this.

“Their brothers,” the innkeeper went on, “followed them, hoping to overhear something to tease their sisters about. The girls, noticing that they were not alone, joined hands and said – I hardly know what and I rather think they hardly know it too – but the boys’ ears flew off their heads and hid in the bushes. We spent the whole morning trying to coax them into returning to the boys’ heads. Only when they gave their word to not breathe a word of what they heard, did the girls make the ears return to their proper places.”

Both travellers exclaimed at this.

“Have the sisters studied magic?” Mr. Ji asked, forgetting in his excitement about his usual shyness and reluctance to speak with others.

“Their fathers had sworn to everyone in the village that neither of the girls had ever seen a single book in their lives. Where could they have seen books of magic? They are not ten years of age and cannot read. They had never travelled as far as York,” the innkeeper told them.

The two travellers exchanged looks of surprise.

“How do they account for what they did?” Mr. Ji asked.

The innkeeper smiled like someone who is confident that what he is about to say will astound every person who hears it and is anticipating the enjoyment he will soon feel. “They say that the stones taught them how to do what they had done.”

This explanation was met with more astonishment and puzzlement.

“The stones?” Mr. de la Iglesia repeated while Mr. Ji did his best to recall if he had ever read anything on the subject.

“They say it was written on the stones,” the innkeeper added, but this explanation did not satisfy either of his listeners.

“You told us that they cannot read,” Mr. de la Iglesia protested, proving that he had paid very close attention to everything the innkeeper had said.

“When we looked at the stones, we found no words or markings,” the innkeeper added, not troubling himself with addressing Mr. de la Iglesia’s remark.

“How odd!” Mr. Ji exclaimed. “Can we see these girls tomorrow morning?”

The innkeeper promised to have a word with their parents and left. The travellers passed the rest of the evening in a conversation about all they had seen and heard that day. Something inexplicable was taking place in England. Was this the result of something the magician had done?

The following morning they learned that the country was full of dozens of similar stories: of children doing magic to the great concern and bewilderment of the adults.

“Magic is returning to England at last,” Mr. Ji concluded with satisfaction.

Mr. de la Iglesia shifted forward in his chair. “But how?” he asked. “We spent so many days searching for magicians with nothing to show for all of our efforts and now here they all are! Why do we only hear about children doing magic? Why are there no stories of adults doing magic?”

Mr. Ji pulled a letter out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “I have lost count the number of hours I spent attempting the simplest spell,” he confessed mournfully. “I fear that Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov has lost all his patience explaining them to me.”

“Have you attempted to perform any magic today?” Mr. de la Iglesia asked.

 “No,” Mr. Ji admitted. “I have not attempted any magic after we resolved to pay him a visit.”

“Then try it now,” was Mr. de la Iglesia’s suggestion.

Mr. Ji looked doubtful for a while and at last, having made up his mind, he rose to fetch his basin and fill it with water. He performed the spell just as Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov had explained and the water changed to show a lone figure all clad in black, walking over the hills.

“It worked!” Mr. Ji exclaimed. “I cannot believe my eyes! I was so certain that I was no magician! I had given it up as a lost cause!”

Mr. de la Iglesia rose from his chair with a smile and walked over to Mr. Ji to admire the vision Mr. Ji had conjured. “Who is that?”

“I asked the magic to show me Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Mr. Ji admitted, “but that cannot be him!”

This insistence took Mr. de la Iglesia by surprise. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “Do you think something went wrong with the magic?”

Mr. Ji studied Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’s letter that described how to do the magic required for creating visions. “I believe not,” he admitted at last.

“Perhaps he is merely taking a stroll about his grounds,” Mr. de la Iglesia suggested.

This sounded reasonable to Mr. Ji and he accepted this explanation without argument.

Remembering what had brought them all this way and feeling as though they had lingered in that one place for too long they continued their journey.

Mr. de la Iglesia let his fancy get the better of him and went on at length about the children magicians requiring instruction in magic and naturally progressed to the subject of schools of magic and who would teach in them while Mr. Ji reflected on how odd it was that now, at last, he had what he had always desired, but that it had brought him no joy.

He was beginning to worry about the days to come.

 

Faerie unfolded itself about Yuuri and he felt its influence over him. It filled him with fears that he had never known before, fears which at first seemed foolish, but which he gave into with every passing hour. Someone was watching him, wishing him harm. Someone would attack him soon. The thought made him fret and throw terrified glances about himself: faeries, by their very nature had more magic than

There was no night or day in Faerie. Some kingdoms were forever in a bleak grey day, while others existed in eternal night.

Yuuri was not a long time on the road before he became convinced that he was not far from Victor. The wedding band on his finger began to glow. Yuuri raised it to his mouth and, fearful that the ring on Victor’s hand was giving him away, silenced it with a kiss.

The road turned and a hill rose before him. At the bottom of the hill a small cottage stood. It had no garden and no fence stood around it, as though the owner of the cottage wished to show that they had nothing to fear from any traveller who came this way.

As soon as Yuuri laid eyes on the cottage he became aware of the fatigue in his limbs. His arms felt heavy, as though he had carried a great load a long way. His feet ached and his head throbbed. Despite all this, he knew he had to keep going. He could not stop here.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the road as he walked on as though there was nowhere to else for him to go.

He was almost out of view of the cottage when a sweet melody began to play. It promised the greatest delight and happiness to anyone who visited the cottage. It put all his fears about the little house to rest and told him that he had made a mistake – Victor was in the cottage and if Yuuri kept going, he would never reunite with him.

Yuuri turned around and walked back towards the cottage.

The music called out to him, beckoning him closer. He must hurry, it insisted. For too long had he been unhappy. He deserved joy and all manner of pleasures. He was a very clever and skilled magician. He deserved recognition for all his efforts.

Yuuri nodded in agreement with the music and kept walking. How well it understood him! Few people had understood him just as well. Even Victor had not understood him this well.

Something burned in Yuuri’s pocket and he stopped walking so he could pull it out and see what the strange object was.

It was a piece of red cloth. Yuuri stared at it, blinking in confusion. Why had it been in his pocket? What was it for? Why had it burned?

Red. There was something important about the colour.

_The colour red may be found beneficial._

Red was often used as protection against enchantment, Yuuri recalled with sudden clarity.

The memory of a cold morning in a forest in Spain returned to him then. He could remember the smell of the trees and that of something burning as soldiers cooked their meals over a fire. For a moment he felt the rough pages of Ormskirk’s _Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds_ under his fingers and imagined he could hear Lord Yakov barking out orders to the men.

He closed his eyes and pictured the words of the spell he had read then. He had returned to it time and again since then, but had never had cause to make use of it.

Yuuri opened his eyes and thought about it now.

_Place the moon at his eyes and her whiteness shall devour the false sights the deceiver has placed there._

He conjured an image of the moon – its round, white face and for a moment her whiteness blinded him. He blinked the image away and his gaze fell on the cottage.

The welcoming sight changed. If before he saw the warm and comforting sight of candles burning in the windows, now he saw it for what it truly was – merely the ruin of a cottage and crumbling walls with missing windows.

_Place a swarm of bees at his ears. Bees love truth and will destroy the deceiver’s lies._

He barely had time to think about this instruction when a loud buzzing broke out all around him. There were bees flying about his ears. One flew up his nose, another – nearly hit his right eye. There were bees in his clothes, and bees in his mouth. There were even bees in his chest even though he could find no explanation for how they had slipped in there.

He shuddered and they were gone.

The music did not sound sweet now – it was made up of discordant notes that did not please the ear. It no longer spoke to him of the pleasures that awaited him in the cottage. It no longer spoke to him about anything at all.

_Place salt in his mouth lest the deceiver attempt to delight him with the taste of honey or disgust him with the taste of ashes._

He tasted salt, but this time there was no noticeable change from the spell: the person performing the magic had not attempted to trick him with any tastes, then.

_Nail his hand with an iron nail so that he shall not raise it to do the deceiver’s bidding._

“Aah!” Yuuri screamed out as a sharp pain pierced his right hand. He stared down at it, convinced that a nail was about to tear it in two, but there was nothing there.

The pain receded and he no longer wanted to walk to the cottage. He turned away, determined to leave as quickly as his legs would carry him.

It was some time before he remembered the last part of the spell.

_Place his heart in a secret place so that all his desired shall be his own and the deceiver shall find no hold there._

He pictured Victor as he had seen him many times – dressed for going out, smiling at Yuuri and waiting for the compliment he was sure he was about to receive. Yuuri gave his heart to Victor and Victor placed it in the pocket of his jacket with a silent promise to keep it safe.

The vision faded and for a moment Yuuri stood still, letting the full strength of their separation hit him.

“You always rescued me,” he whispered, “can I not rescue you just this one?”

He arrived at the border of two Faerie kingdoms. There was a strangeness there, as though the air itself changed.

The ground dropped off in front of his feet, falling into a deep crevasse. Yuuri stopped walking to study where the road ended. He considered flying across as he looked along the edge of the cliff until, at last, his eye came to rest in a bridge that connected the two sides of the gorge.

Yuuri walked to it and crossed it, taking care to keep to the middle and watching the road with a weary eye.

He expected guards or soldiers of some kind, but to his surprise the road remained deserted. There was no great beast here to keep unwanted visitors away. Instead there were endless fields of soldiers’ corpses.

Yuuri stopped as his eye caught sight of the banner flapping in the wind. It showed a raven in flight – the symbol of the Raven King himself.

Yuuri kept walking as his mind filled with all manner of questions. Was it possible that somewhere in that field the King…?

He did not dare complete the thought and with a great deal of effort forced his thoughts to return to the task he had set out for himself.

The moonlight gleamed on the armour and weapons of the fallen, creating the illusion of movement, was someone alive out there in the fields? Was something sliding among the corpses of the dead, trying to make its way to the road?

Yuuri stopped and held his breath.

The sound of metal crashing against metal rang out in the silence. He looked around, eyes open wide in fear. Where was it coming from?

A faint ringing as though of bells filled the air, coming from all directions.

He turned. All was still. Not a single corpse moved. Still, the air was full of ringing. No breeze blew now and Yuuri felt his blood go cold as the ringing continued to fill the air.

He ran without thinking, his mind full of all the fears he had ever painted for himself. His imagination told him that the sound followed him down the road and the ringing still sounded in his ears.

The road turned and the ruins of a castle rose before the magician.

Yuuri stopped there was his enemy’s home at last. He would have to take great care here.

He moved with caution, worrying that at any moment someone would look out of the windows or step out of the castle and Yuuri would be seen.

He whispered a spell for concealment and stepped up to the castle as soundlessly as he could. Once he got near enough he felt the castle grumble and spoke to it in soothing tones, pleading that it would not give him away.

“Your master was unkind to you,” Yuuri said, “and what you truly need is someone who will take care of you.”

He flattered the castle and promised to find a new master for him, who would give him a new name. “Lost Hope” did not suit such a noble castle.

Flattered, the castle granted the magician his protection and accepted Yuuri like a curtain accepts a person hiding in its folds. Yuuri was allowed to look and to watch the ball.

The figures danced and spun, each more fantastic than the one before it, but Yuuri’s eyes sought out one specific person in the crowd and rested on him the whole time.

Victor reclined his head as he laughed at something his partner told him. His eyes shone as he took his partner by the hand. Victor had eyes only for his partner and never once did he look about the room. He shone in the candlelight of the hall as though a flame burned inside him.

Yuuri watched in amazement as though he had never seen his husband before that moment. He recalled a time when he did not dare approach Victor and wondered if it was possible that Victor’s beauty had grown during their time apart.

Victor turned, noting the graceful line of his neck and shoulders on display for all the world to see and Yuuri was unable to draw a single breath.

The joy in Victor’s face was foreign to Yuuri who had forgotten what joy was truly like.

It was impossible to look away from the spectacle and Yuuri watched until the dancers broke up to rest on Victor’s insistence.

His partner – here at last Yuuri could tear his eyes away from Victor for long enough to look at him – gave a nod of the head and led Victor by the hand to one of the rooms of the castle.

 

Victor had succeeded in persuading the gentleman with the thistle-down hair to set aside a bed for him and dropped onto it now with great relief.

Sleep washed over him, followed by a familiar warmth he had not felt in a long time.

“Victor,” a voice dearer than all the treasures of the world called.

He opened his eyes, but he did not find himself lying on the bed, instead he sat at the very end of his and Yuuri’s garden where the trees hid him from view of the house.

Yuuri stood at a tree, regarding Victor with an expression of deep longing that made Victor’s heart beat fast.

“Yuuri!” He held out both of his hands and Yuuri stepped closer, reaching out in return and letting his fingertips brush against Victor’s, as though he had forgotten how to touch Victor.

Victor caught Yuuri’s questing hands with his own and drew Yuuri close to him. “Yuuri…” His hands caressed Yuuri’s, moving slowly over his arms and then up to his elbows. “Oh, Yuuri!”

Yuuri gave a long and heavy sigh.

Victor’s hands found a way from Yuuri’s shoulder’s to his neck and then to his face.

Yuuri’s eyes closed. His appearance had changed. He had a hollowness in his face that made Victor wonder how much time had passed since his arrival in Faerie.

Victor’s finger traced out the line of Yuuri’s nose and, very carefully, he leaned close and planted a brief kiss on the very tip of Yuuri’s nose, as though uncertain if he was allowed this little freedom.

A shudder passed through Yuuri’s shoulders, but he remained where he was.

Victor bestowed a kiss on one cheek and then on the other. He brushed a lock of Yuuri’s hair aside and rewarded his temple with another kiss. “My love…”

His voice faltered, not allowing him to say what he had meant to say and Victor had to content himself with holding Yuuri’s face with both hands as he studied his features in fascinated silence.

Another sigh escaped Yuuri’s lips and Victor knew that this meeting was going to be brief, that it would last as long as his dream did.

Victor closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against that of his husband. “I love you,” he whispered. His fingers traced out the curve of Yuuri’s cheeks. “I cannot explain how I feel, only that my love for you has grown in our time apart. Is that not strange?” His hold on Yuuri tightened as his mind whispered to him that this was nothing more than a dream – a mere fantasy of what he wished to be true.

“I feel the same,” Yuuri confessed.

Doubt turned to certainty: this was merely a dream, but still he held on to Yuuri. The touch felt too real and he accepted their meeting like welcome relief from the horrors of Lost Hope.

Even if he awoke and found that this was nothing more than a dream, Victor would treasure this memory as though this meeting really happened between them.

“There is something I need to ask of you,” Yuuri told him. He lowered his head onto Victor’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “When you next see the faerie, ask him to give you what he gained from his last dealings with a magician. Do not ask me to explain myself now: I do not have enough time to tell you everything.”

Victor gripped him tighter to assure Yuuri that he had no need of an explanation.

“I know your powers of persuasion and have no doubt that you will succeed in getting it from him. Only,” he freed himself from Victor’s embrace and met Victor’s eye, “do not promise yourself in exchange.”

Victor nodded and gave his word to do as Yuuri had instructed. He caressed Yuuri’s face once more, repeating his vows, but Yuuri turned his head to look over his shoulder at something that Victor could not see.

“I must go now!” Yuuri exclaimed.

“Yuuri, my love…” Victor caught Yuuri in a kiss, intending it to be a brief one, but Yuuri clung on.

It was so difficult to let go, almost impossible.

At last Yuuri broke free of the kiss and rose to his feet. “I have missed you terribly,” Yuuri confessed. His hand rose to rest against his heart, but he did not approach Victor.

“Stay with me a little longer,” Victor pleaded. “ _Must_ you go?”

Yuuri reached down to put his arms around Victor. “I will return tomorrow, I give you my word.”

Victor placed his hands on Yuuri’s back. “I love you,” he confessed once more.

The dream faded away to be replaced by another one. This one did not bring him as much joy as seeing Yuuri did, but it was filled with roses and the pleasant smell of a garden.

Victor walked along the bushes and knew that Yuuri had left this dream for him. He came upon a stream and sat down in the grass on one of the banks, letting his fingers trail through the water. The birds sang in the tress and he let their gentle voices lull him.

 

When Victor awoke he felt no fatigue, as though he had slept for many hours in his comfortable bed at home in Yorkshire. He turned over, expecting to find Yuuri at his side and gave a heavy sigh when he saw that he was alone.

Recalling Yuuri’s request, Victor rose with a determined air. The days of his long wait for Yuuri were over.

He took extra care while dressing that day, stopping from time to time to study his reflection in the big mirror the gentleman with the thistle-down hair had placed in his room.

For a moment Victor fancied he could see Yuuri in the mirror, standing just behind Victor’s reflection with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

Victor looked about himself, but apart from him there was no one else in the room.

He finished making the final touches to his appearance and left the room, convinced that Yuuri was not far, perhaps watching over him. The thought warmed his heart and gave him the courage to be daring.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was as impertinent as always, acting like a triumphant conqueror.

Victor smiled at him, suppressing all his thoughts of hate and doing his best to look as he would if Yuuri had been the one to meet him here.

Once the thought of a ball every night with his beloved would have sounded romantic to him, but he had since learned to detest them. More than balls he detested having to smile for and please his captor.

Still, he allowed himself a slight flirtation and did his best not to worry over the number of smiles the faerie had received from him without deserving a single one.

“You look exceedingly fine tonight,” the faerie assured him, stepping up behind Victor and dropping the words into his ear.

“Shall I claim a reward for it, then?” Victor teased, his heart beating fast.

The gentleman raised Victor’s hand to his lips. “At last, you remember all the gifts that I offered you and that you declined to accept!”

Victor laughed. “That is because I had no need of any of them. Now I have fixed my heart on what it is I desire!” he declared.

The gentleman raised a hand, as though prepared to summon whatever Victor wished for as soon as he breathed the words.

“Do you promise to bring me whatever I ask for?” Victor asked, stepping closer and feeling bolder than ever.

Around them the dancers stopped. He suspected that they were all looking his way now, but did not let their attention worry him. Let them look as much as they liked!

Lord Yuri was somewhere among them as well and was in all likelihood waiting to hear what Victor would ask for.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair smiled. “I will bring you any object which your heart desires.”

Victor made note of the way the gentleman gave his promise. It made asking for his or Lord Yuri’s freedom impossible. “You have told me many times,” he began, feeling his heart beat so fast in his chest he was sure it would jump out, “of the great magicians you have outwitted, of the noble deeds you have done and the many enemies you have vanquished.” He watched the gentleman’s face, curious to see how he would react to such a prelude.

The gentleman accepted all the compliments with a simple nod of his head and just the hint of a smile.

“I require proof,” Victor declared, raising his head proudly. “I would like you to bring me what you gained from your last dealings with a magician.”

The smile melted away from the gentleman’s face. For a moment his face changed colour and Victor feared that the gentleman would attack him, but he regained control of himself and forced a smile. “You do not wish to see that! It is a dull thing of very little interest.”

Victor remained adamant. He had given his word to Yuuri and he would keep it, no matter what the faerie said. “You promised to bring me any object I asked for.”

The gentleman affected a laugh. “Would you not rather have jewels? I can bring you the largest diamond in the world. It is the size of your hand and would complement your features very well!”

“No,” Victor shook his head. “I have no need for a diamond. Bring me what I asked for.”

“Very well,” the gentleman said, “after the dance you will find what you requested in your room.”

“Thank you,” Victor bowed.

Music struck up once more and the gentleman lead Victor into the next dance as, one by one, the other pairs joined them.

By chance, Victor’s eye fell on Lord Yuri and he saw the fear on the young man’s face.

_Do not be afraid,_ Victor tried to tell him with his eyes. _Yuuri will save us. He found a way._

Still the fear remained on Lord Yuri’s face. Perhaps he had not seen the expression on Victor’s face, or if he had it was possible that he had not understood what Victor wished him to know. Whatever the reason, he went on standing by the wall, paying no attention to the faerie beside him who did her best to draw him into the dance.

The dancing felt longer than ever this time. They went around and around and Victor was forced to hide his impatience behind a polite smile. He did his best to act as though the dancing pleased him while every thought of his was on his request.

_What will the faerie bring? It much be something that Yuuri can use against the faerie,_ Victor decided after some consideration, _some weakness of his that will persuade the faerie to release us both._

Still, try as he might, he could not imagine what such an object could be and he could not recall any story Yuuri had told him which would benefit them in their circumstances.

At last the dancing came to an end. Lord Yuri disappeared to wake up in his home in London and Victor was allowed to return to his rooms.

When Victor entered his dressing room he found a little object waiting silently for him on the table. He crossed the room with quick strides and picked the object up to examine it.

It was a box the colour of heartache. The box was no bigger than a snuffbox and had not been there before. This was what the faerie had brought upon his request, Victor was certain of it. It had to contain what Yuuri had asked for unless they had both been tricked somehow.

There was no lock on the box and it was the work of an instant to open it, which Victor did before he could ask himself if this was wise.

All the colour drained out of Victor’s face as soon as he saw the box’s contents.

A small finger lay inside. It was the size of a child’s finger, or possibly the smallest finger from the hand of a youth.

Victor closed the box at once and returned it to the table. What did it mean?

His mind filled with question. They came to him all at once, not giving him time to think of a single answer. He remembered about Yuuri’s promise to return and wondered how Yuuri would take the box. Would they meet in dreams once more? Was there a way for Victor to take the box into his dreams?

He rose unsteadily to his feet and opened the door the lead from his dressing room to the bedchamber.

Yuuri lay asleep on the bed.

This discovery brought a smile to Victor’s face and made him forget all about the box. He walked over to the bed and lowered himself with great care on the very edge.

Was this an illusion or merely a dream?

He reached out and hesitated, suddenly afraid that his hand would pass through and he would discover that Yuuri was truly elsewhere.

Yuuri stirred in his sleep, but did not wake.

Victor gathered his courage and let his fingers touch Yuuri’s cheek. He felt the softness of the man’s skin under his touch. Victor took his hand away and leaned down over him to plant a kiss on the spot where his fingers had just been.

Yuuri stirred and sat up sharply, “I had not intended to…” he began, but Victor silenced him with a kiss.

There could be no half-measures now, not when Victor felt the full joy of their reunion and wished to express this feeling to his husband, but Yuuri pulled free of Victor’s embrace before he could do more than kiss him.

“We must go,” his voice said, while his eyes said something different. “We need to leave this place before we are found!”

Victor watched Yuuri rise to his feet, knowing his husband’s words to be true, but eager for more of his attention. There was the hollowness in Yuuri’s face once more – the one Victor had seen in the dream. He let Yuuri raise him to his feet and prepared to renew the vows of his love when Yuuri spoke.

“Did you bring what I asked for?” he asked.

The question cut through Victor’s heart. He remembered about the little box and where they both were. What had he been thinking? His duty was to run as far away as he could with Yuuri, to hide and defend his husband if his life.

“Yes,” he answered so softly he scarcely heard himself. He caught Yuuri by the hand and led him into his dressing room, taking care to make very little sound as he tread through the room. If before he had tossed all his cares to the wind, now he recalled that the faerie was near and could find them at any moment.

“I fear that there is some mistake,” he whispered, indicating the box on the table. “Is this what you asked for?”

Yuuri raised the box and opened it. His face lost what little colour it had and he gave a curt nod. “Just as I thought…”

He passed a hand over his brow with a heavy sigh. A change came over him then. It was subtle and Victor could not describe what it was, only that where a moment before he saw a powerful magician now stood what he could only describe as a tortured soul.

He clasped Yuuri tightly by both hands with an exclamation of alarm.

“We must go,” Yuuri whispered. “We are running out of time. He tells me the faerie will be here soon.”

“Who tells you?” Victor asked and looked about the room, as though expecting another person to appear there with them.

Yuuri rewarded him with a bitter smile. “The castle, of course.”

There was no time left for worry or questions. Victor gripped Yuuri by the hand and ran out of the room and through a corridor which he knew led to the back of the castle. They rounded corner after corner and hurried down stone steps, holding on to each other. As they ran Victor pulled the jewels out of his hair and tossed them on the ground. They shattered into thousands of little fragments as soon as they hit the ground, but it mattered very little to Victor now.

As soon as they were out of the castle Victor hesitated, uncertain of the direction in which they must go.

Yuuri made a gesture with his free hand and a road appeared in the ground before them, starting at their feet and disappearing in the distance. “This road will take us home,” he promised and they ran down the road together.

Victor ran as fast as he could, throwing glances back over his shoulder, terrified of pursuit. Still the road behind him was empty.

_Perhaps he has tired of me at last,_ he thought. _Is it possible that he decided to let us go, or is something terrible waiting for us on the road ahead?_

He alternated between looking ahead of them and behind them, uncertain of where the greatest danger lay.

The road came to a frame in the road and ended there. They stopped to examine it and Victor noted to his surprise that the road did not continue beyond the frame.

Yuuri stood aside to Victor step through first and still Victor would not release Yuuri’s hand.

“You must go through first,” Yuuri insisted. “I will follow right behind you.”

Victor took Yuuri’s other hand. “If you do not follow after me, I will return for you,” he vowed.

“Of course,” Yuuri agreed and Victor released Yuuri’s hands, turning away and stepping through the frame.

Too late it occurred to him that Yuuri might have some way of preventing him from returning the way he had come, but he had already stepped through the frame.

His surroundings changed, but he did not trouble himself with establishing where they were. Instead, he turned to make certain that Yuuri was following him.

A frame stood against the wall. Within the frame he could see the hills and road they had travelled by. Victor watched Yuuri step over the frame and join Victor.

The hills and road faded away to be replaced by an image of both of them and only then did Victor realize that they had stepped through a mirror.

Now that they were reunited Victor was at liberty to study their surroundings.

He recognized the paintings of Venice at once and a quick glance at the windows confirmed what he had suspected – they were in London, in Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri’s house.

Victor remembered then about Lord Yuri’s enchantment – the curse that forced him to return to Faerie, as he had confided in Victor at one of the numerous balls they had both attended.

“Yuuri,” Victor said in a whisper, placing his arms about his husband, “are we – all three of us – free at last?”

“I fear not,” Yuuri said with a shake of his head, “but first I must see to Lord Yuri.”

He left the room and strode confidently across the house, Victor following close behind him. Yuuri said nothing, but Victor was convinced by his manner that he knew where precisely to find Lord Yuri.

The confidence lasted only until the doorway to Lord Yuri’s room, however, for once he stepped into his room, Yuuri swayed on his feet and Victor had to catch him to keep him from falling to the ground.

“The magic… is strong,” Yuuri closed his eyes and walked towards Lord Yuri.

The young man sat in a chair by the window, regarding both of his visitors with an expression of outright hostility. To Victor’s surprise, he said nothing and let them approach unchallenged.

“I have something of yours,” Yuuri announced, opening his eyes and nearly falling into a swoon a second time. After a long struggle to remain upright he produced the box the colour of heartache from his pocket and took the small finger out of it. He held it next to the place where Lord Yuri’s hand was missing a finger and performed his magic over it.

Victor watched the finger reattach itself and waited to see what would happen next.

Lord Yuri rose to his feet. “You gave me away!” he exclaimed. “You doomed me to be nothing more than a puppet in a faerie’s hands! How I _hate_ balls, and faeries, and magic! And I hate magicians!”

Yuuri retreated in fear, convinced that Lord Yuri was about to strike him and Victor prepared to stand between them, but both of their fears were unjustified: instead of striking Yuuri, Lord Yuri caught him in a tight embrace.

“I had given up all hope,” he whispered, the words coming faster than ever now. “I had resigned myself to spending the rest of my life in Faerie!”

Victor’s heart swelled with joy and he added his own words of gratitude to those spoken by Lord Yuri. They continued in this manner for nearly a quarter of an hour while the expression on Yuuri’s face grew more sombre with every passing minute.

Then, unable to remain silent any longer, he spoke, “We are not rid of him! I have no doubt that he will come after both of you now that you have broken free.”

“What must we do?” Victor asked, prepared to act on a single command from Yuuri.

“We must fight!” Lord Yuri exclaimed. “I will not stand helplessly while someone else fights for my freedom!”

Yuuri’s eyes were on Victor. “All these years I did my best to protect you,” he whispered, “and nearly lost you despite this.”

Victor held him close. “It is my duty to protect you and I failed utterly. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Yuuri assured him. He felt a shudder pass through his body and his knees buckled under his weight. His strength was beginning to fail him.

_Not now!_ he thought wretchedly. _Not when I have need of more strength than ever before!_

He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced the bottle with the tincture. There was still more than half of its contents left.

Victor supported him in his embrace, regarding him with alarm. Yuuri had no wish to drink the tincture before him, but what choice did he have?

“He will come soon…” Yuuri muttered to himself. “We must…” He lost his balance, but still Victor held him upright.

“Yuuri!” Victor cried out.

“Bring me a glass of water,” Yuuri whispered.

Lord Yuri summoned a servant and gave the order. The maid stared in surprise at the two unexpected visitors before running off to bring what had been requested.

It was becoming difficult for Yuuri to draw breath. Every minute he feared he would slip away into sleep, leaving them without protection.

Victor helped Yuuri into a chair and no one said another word until the servant arrived with the glass and with Sir Otabek closely behind her.

Sir Otabek was dressed for travelling. He regarded both visitors with surprise and had the same reaction upon seeing Lord Yuri. Only then did Lord Yuri recall that he and Sir Otabek had settled on that day for leaving for the country.

He approached his husband, the words of an explanation forming on his lips and turned to watch Yuuri.

The magician accepted the glass of water gratefully and added several drops from the bottle he kept in his pocket. The air filled with the strong smell of cats, making everyone look about themselves in a state of great confusion. The water turned a deep brown colour and Yuuri downed it without a second thought.

A change came over him. Lord Yuri could feel the full strength of the magician’s powers now. The sensation was a new one to him, but he understood it at once. Yuuri rose to his feet, standing taller and prouder than Lord Yuri had ever seen him stand. He drew Victor close to him with a smirk very unlike Yuuri’s usual smile.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, all confusion.

The expression on Yuuri’s face reminded Lord Yuri of an animal – his teeth appeared longer and his eyes turned deep amber: not a colour Lord Yuri had ever seen in anyone’s eyes before.

“You will have to wait,” the magician growled to Victor, “we have company.”

A shudder passed through the house and Lord Yuri knew at once that the faerie had come.


	14. Can a Magician Kill a Man?

Sir Otabek’s surprise at finding uninvited guests was immense. The maid had announced their arrival to him and he went to greet them as politeness demanded he should. Seeing Victor alive did not surprise him, after all – his husband was a magician.

After giving the matter some thought, he concluded that they had come to wish both him and Lord Yuri a good journey, but as soon as he laid eyes on them and heard what was said between them he understood that they had come for a different reason entirely.

Sir Otabek gathered from their words that they were all in danger, but not what the danger was. Still, Sir Otabek Altin never hid away from danger and was prepared to fight, if he was called upon to defend his life or that of someone else.

Like Lord Yuri, he also made note of the change that came over the magician after he drank the draught he had prepared for himself. The change troubled him. He recalled the rumours circulating London about the magician’s madness and this change made even the most extraordinary of them all sound as though they contained some truth.

Lord Yuri looked about himself in alarm.

“We have company,” Yuuri whispered.

“Did you feel that?” Lord Yuri whispered. “The whole house shook!”

“We cannot fight him here,” Yuuri declared.

Lord Yuri cast a worried glance about him. “Where do you recommend we go?”

Yuuri had his answer ready. “My library.”

They could all hear approaching footsteps now. They were coming from the stairs that led down to the room where they were.

Yuuri released Victor and made a complicated gesture with his hands. “This ought to slow his progress a little and give us more time.”

They all knew then that explanations of what he had done would have to wait until another time.

“How will we get to your library?” Lord Yuri asked. “It is many miles from here and I even the fastest carriage travelling without stopping to change horses cannot take us there in less than a day.”

Yuuri strode to the mirror that stood by the wall and placed a hand over it. To Sir Otabek’s surprise, it no longer reflected them and the room around them, but showed instead a road through an empty field.

“We have just come from there!” Victor protested to his husband. “We cannot run back into his clutches!”

Yuuri caught Victor with his free hand. “I will never allow you to come under another person’s power again.”

The mirror changed to show dozens of bridges crossing above and below each other.

“Come,” Yuuri called to the others. “We have no time.”

He urged Victor to pass through the mirror first and Lord Yuri to follow soon after.

Sir Otabek cast a glance at the only other person remaining in the room. “What of the maid? I will not have her lose her life over this. She must come with us.”

Yuuri made an impatient gesture for her to follow behind the others.

As soon as she passed through the mirror, the door opened and a gentleman with hair the colour of thistle-down entered the room.

“Go!” Yuuri ordered Sir Otabek and stepped between him and the newcomer.

Sir Otabek hurried through the mirror. He did not see what the magician did or hear what words he exchanged with the gentleman.

As soon as he passed through the mirror and joined the others he saw the worried way in which Victor regarded the mirror behind him.

Sir Otabek said nothing about the gentleman’s appearance in the room with them and hoped that Yuuri would find a way to escape.

Only a few minutes must have passed, but already the wait felt interminably long. Victor wrung his hands and berated himself aloud for agreeing to pass through the mirror first. Too late Sir Otabek realized how foolish it had been – if Yuuri did not succeed in evading the gentleman, the four of them would find themselves stranded here with no knowledge of where to go.

At last, Yuuri stumbled through the mirror. He held his hand up to the frame and Sir Otabek was aware of doors closing behind him.

All traces of Yuuri’s confidence were gone from his face now. A pallor spread over his face and his breath came in gasps. Victor rushed to his side, inquiring after his well-being, but Yuuri shook his head, dismissing all the questions as unimportant.

“We have no time for that. Follow me!” He stumbled down the road with Victor at his side, prepared to catch him if he should fall.

The maid came next. Lord Yuri and Sir Otabek brought up the rear of their little party. Sir Otabek threw worried glances back over his shoulder, expecting at any moment to see the gentleman following right behind them.

They did not move with the urgency that their circumstances demanded and – what was more troubling – the only means of their protection was weakening with every passing minute.

They did not need to make many steps before another frame appeared before them. Yuuri passed through this one first, followed closely by everyone else.

Sir Otabek saw at once that they were in the magician’s famous library. There were more books here than he had ever seen before. Rows of bookshelves lined every wall and among them – here and there were images of the Raven King, at time symbolized merely by the raven and at times shown by statues of the King himself.

The minister recalled the worries of the men in the parliament. They had all sworn allegiance to King George and did not welcome rumours of the Raven King’s return.

Back in London he had smiled at the idea, but here – in the heart of Yorkshire and in the magician’s library with all the images of the Raven King around him – the rumours felt more like a certainty.

“We do not have much time,” Yuuri told them, making straight for the table by the window. At least a dozen books covered its surface and here and there loose papers stuck out from between the books.

There was a long silence after his words. Soon Sir Otabek realized that he was waiting for instructions from the magician, but that none would come.

“What would you have us do?” he asked at last.

Yuuri raised his eyes with a mocking smile. “To be completely honest, minister, I cannot imagine how you can possibly help in our present circumstances.”

“We do not want you to defend all of us alone. We want to lend a helping hand, Yuuri,” Victor said, but his voice was laced with worry and fear.

Sir Otabek made note of it, but said nothing.

Yuuri flipped hastily through the first book he picked up before setting it aside and picking up another one.

The others in the room exchanged a worried glance. The maid looked uneasy, but did not voice her fears. Sir Otabek prepared to speak, but he caught Victor’s eye and saw him give a slight shake of the head.

“Yuuri?” Victor called gently, placing both hands on the shoulders of his husband. “Perhaps we can help you find what you are looking for in these books?”

“No! No!” Yuuri exclaimed impatiently. “You cannot find it. I cannot explain what it is and you will not know it when you stumbled upon it.”

“How will you know that you have found it, then?” Lord Yuri demanded.

Yuuri hesitated. “It was a spell. I cannot recall it properly now, but I will recognize it when I find it again, I am certain of it.”

“I trust you to find it,” Victor told him. “In the meantime, perhaps it would be best if we were to offer our guests some refreshment. What would you like?” He looked from Sir Otabek to Lord Yuri and then to the maid, to show her that the offer of refreshment was extended to her as well.

The room darkened and every candle in the library flickered.

“There is no time for that now,” Yuuri said. “He is trying to enter the library.”

The walls changed and moved around each other until they formed an opening twice a man’s height and wide enough for four men to walk through comfortably. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair entered, a smile twisting his lips.

“Such a simple trick does not work against me,” he told the magician.

Victor rushed to stand in front of everyone else, as if to shield them all with his body. “Let us be!” he exclaimed. “We will do you no harm, if you return to your kingdom now and let us be!”

“No one has ever broken free of a spell I placed over them,” the faerie announced. “I cannot allow either of you to walk free.” A grimace twisted his lips but it no longer resembled anything as pleasant as a smile. “As agreeable as your society had been, now you must die!” He raised a hand, just as Yuuri pulled Victor out of the way.

“I hate you!” Lord Yuri exclaimed, charging at the faerie with his fists clenched. “I detested every boring ball, every second of having to tolerate your horrible presence!”

The faerie’s face began to turn green as his eyes flashed in anger.

“I detested it all!” Lord Yuri went on without a care for what would happen to him now. “I especially detest the sight of your hideous face with your hair the colour of thistle-down!”

The faerie shook with anger. His nose grew longer and his ears became more pointed. He no longer resembled a human being and became more like an animal, vicious and dangerous. A look at him was enough to make someone believe that he was prepared to bite everyone around him.

“Yuri!” Sir Otabek exclaimed. He looked about himself, wishing desperately that he had a weapon of some kind with him.

A thousand ravens filled the library. Several of them hit Sir Otabek’s cheek and shoulders with their wings, but the minister did not move from his spot. The birds circled the faerie, closing in on him in a dark cloud.

His laughter cut through the air and the sound was unlike any laughter Sir Otabek had ever heard. It made him shudder in fear to hear it. “Is this the full extent of your powers, magician?” he asked in a mocking tone. “It will take more than a flock of birds to stop me!”

He swung out his arm and the ravens tumbled to the ground, turning into books as they hit the floor.

Sir Otabek stepped before Lord Yuri as his eyes continued to search the floor and the walls for a weapon to defend them all with. The minister had never fought anyone, had never claimed a life, but in that moment he felt certain that if his husband’s life was threatened he would have no qualms about taking a life.

 

Yuuri dropped to one knee, feeling his energy fail him. His palms pushed against the ground, but his arms could barely support him. They shook most alarmingly and he knew that in his present state he had no hope of making use of the draught.

His vision blurred. His eyelids grew heavy and it took every ounce of his will to keep his eyes open as though he was pushing against a wall the whole time.

The books of magic lay strewn all about him He had drawn on their contents and they had turned into ravens, but even they could not defeat the faerie.

If only there were other magicians to help him now! But there was no time for imagining what could have been: the faerie raised Victor by the neck.

“I will start with you, my _dear_ Victor,” he hissed.

The wood floor below Victor’s feet burst and a vine grew out of it. It rose to wrap itself around Victor’s foot and twist up his leg. It entwined itself around Victor’s waist, circled his chest and finally reached up to his neck.

Victor gasped for air. His eye met Yuuri’s, but they had no plea for help or mercy. He saw his husband half-conscious on the ground and for the first time in his life his faith in his husband’s abilities weakened.

“Yuuri…” he whispered at last.

Yuuri saw the hope vanish from those eyes to be replaced first by fear and then acceptance. Worse still was the look that said too plainly that Victor forgave him for everything.

The sight only served to make Yuuri feel even more powerless. His arms moved as though they had turned to stone and his legs were full of lead. “Victor…” he breathed out in a voice that sounded very little like his own.

He knew then that there was only one thing he could do – he had to summon a magician from the past and hope that the magician was both willing and able to help him. One name sprang to his mind before all the others. It was the name that was never far from his thoughts.

“Raven King,” he whispered and, remembering his human name, opened his mouth, prepared to begin the spell of summoning.

 “No, I will not kill you,” the faerie decided aloud. His hand gripped Victor’s face and turned it so that their eyes could meet. “I will take you with me and make you a prince of Lost Hope. You will become one of my subjects. You will never again enter England: the land itself will refuse to let you in.”

As his right hand gripped Victor’s head his left slipped around his waist to pull him away and he moved swiftly back and out of the room.

Yuuri summoned all of his strength and followed them. He followed as though his and Victor’s souls were bound together, as though they had to continue to be near each other and so he no longer thought about his weary limbs, or his body made heavy by exhaustion.

He thought about Victor, terrified, buried under the earth and never able to return home. He could recall with perfect clarity the tales of old: of men and women stolen away from their homes and hidden out of sight of their loved ones. He could imagine himself out in a field, or standing over a stream and calling out Victor’s name with the wind blowing all about him, carrying his own name back.

_“For always and for always_

_I pray remember me_

_Upon the moors, beneath the stars_

_With the King’s wild company.”_

No, he told himself, Victor will not be lost. He will remain here, in England, with Yuuri at his side. Everything will return to how it once was: Yuuri will delight Victor by performing small insignificant acts of magic and they will be happy.

They were out in the fields beyond the house now. The wind blew hard against Yuuri’s face, as if it too was in league with his enemy and was prepared to do everything to keep him from rescuing Victor. The sky was grey – the sun itself refused to shine down on them, preferring to hide behind the clouds.

There were no houses or trees out on the fields and Yuuri was no longer certain if they were in England, or in Faerie. What if it was too late? What would he do then?

The thought took the little strength Yuuri had left. His knees buckled under him and he dropped onto the road, unable to follow.

Still the gentleman hurried on with his captive in his arm. His hold was strong – despite Victor’s struggles, he could not break free.

Then, at last, he regained the use of his voice and let out a long heart-wrenching cry, “Yuuri!”

Something flared in Yuuri’s gaze. He dug his hands deep into the ground until his fingers touched the earth beneath the road and he trembled as his lips moved, but no sound escaped.

He called out to the earth and the stones and the sky, reminding them of all their oaths to the Raven King and to English magicians. He was met with indifferent silence and knew then that he was no longer in England. But the favour of the land was easier to win in Faerie and he made them all a promise that was met with a pleased response.

Two hands rose out of the earth, made of the soil itself. One plucked Victor out of the faerie’s grasp and set him aside where he would be safe and they both took hold of the faerie and squeezed, ready to crush the life out of him.

Yuuri raised his own hand and, with his eyes closed, shouted words out to the wind.

A small sphere of light floated out of the faerie’s open mouth and the faerie’s body went limp as the light continued to float before it.

 

_“Can a magician kill a man?” Lord Yakov asked sharply, startling Yuuri._

_It was some time before Yuuri answered. He weighed his words carefully before saying them aloud. “I suppose a magician might, Your Lordship, but a gentleman never could.”_

 

Yuuri hesitated. He knew that all he needed to do was extinguish that light and the faerie would bother him no longer, but he hesitated. Despite everything they had all endured, he could not find it in him to take another person’s life.

“Why do you hesitate?” Lord Yuri demanded, sounding angrier than ever.

Yuuri turned his head and watched Lord Yuri step forward. His shoulders were rigid, his hands were clenched into fists and there was an expression of great fury upon his face. His whole air was that of utmost anger. He stood with his feet apart and something circled the ground at his feet.

“How can you spare his life when he turned my life into a nightmare?” There was a quiet menace in his tone as he spoke.

The world went still apart from where Lord Yuri stood – here the wind stirred around him and all attention was drawn to him, as though even the trees wished to see what he would do next.

Victor ran to Yuuri’s side and put his arms around his husband. He opened his mouth, but Yuuri was not to learn what Victor thought he should do: Lord Yuri stepped forward in that moment with his hands held out before him and his eyes closed.

Yuuri felt his hold on mud lighten and watched as Lord Yuri moved the big hands to extinguish the faerie’s life.

It was over. Assured of Victor’s safety at last, Yuuri’s head dropped as his strength left him and he lost consciousness.

 

Victor caught Yuuri before he could hit the ground. The magician’s face was so pale that for a moment Victor feared that the worst had happened. He lowered his head over his husband’s mouth and felt the faintest hint of a breath on his face.

Yuuri was still alive. Victor brushed his hair aside with a sigh of relief.

Yuuri had grown thinner in their time apart. More than that, there was something wild and untamed in his appearance now that had never been there before. As Victor traced out his features with his finger his thought were of the Raven King.

There was a line across Yuuri’s forehead now, a crease that spoke plainly of many hours passed in sad and painful thoughts. His lips often twisted into bitter smiles and the hint of one still lingered there now.

Victor straightened the weary brow and smoothed out the bitter smile. Then he rose and lifted Yuuri in his arms, noting with alarm how much lighter his husband had become.

 _And what of me?_ he wondered then. _What changes have come over me?_

He recalled a happier time when he spent hours before a mirror, determined to please Yuuri. Was there any of that beauty left now?

Victor knew that Yuuri would love him regardless of his appearance, but he could not help the twinge of regret at what he must have lost.

At last he recalled that he was not alone and he turned to see what the others were doing.

Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri stood over the faerie’s corpse and spoke to each other in low voices. Fragments of what they said to each other reached Victor and those snatches led him to conclude that Sir Otabek was gently berating Lord Yuri for the murder.

“You would have me leave him his life?” Lord Yuri exclaimed in disbelief. “After all that he had done and knowing that he would go on kidnapping people, time and again, you would have me let him go?” Lord Yuri glowed with a pale blue light and Victor watched in wonder.

Had that been magic? Was it possible that His Lordship was a magician?

Sir Otabek took Lord Yuri’s hand gently and smiled. “Forgive me. I had no wish to anger you.”

Lord Yuri’s face softened. “I will not allow anyone to tell me what I am to do,” he declared, but there was less anger in his tone now.

“You are free to do as you please,” Sir Otabek told him. “You know very well that would not tell you what you must do.”

They gazed at each other as though they imagined themselves at home all on their own, while they still remained in Faerie.

Behind them rose the castle of Lost Hope, an even emptier shell than before now that it had no master. As Victor’s eyes flickered to the old castle, a shudder passed over his shoulders.

A shape stepped out of the old ruin, descended the steps and walked down the road towards them.

Victor held Yuuri close to his chest, but the magician did not stir from his sleep.

As soon as the figure came close to them Victor recognized a gentleman he had seen many times during his time in Faerie. This gentleman often accompanied the gentleman with the thistle-down hair, but he never danced, as though he was not important enough for the task.

“You have killed the king of Lost Hope,” he said in a slow and level tone.

Lord Yuri tensed, prepared to fight his newcomer at the first sign of trouble from him. “I killed him,” he agreed, raising his chin proudly. “What of it? Will you have me kill you as well?”

The newcomer’s features remained impassive. “You are the new master of Lost Hope, then.”

“What?” Lord Yuri recoiled from him in disgust. “Me – the master of this wretched place? I have no wish of ever returning here!” he declared. “You cannot force me to take those dusty old ruins.”

“But Lost Hope needs a master,” the newcomer protested. His calm manner was gone now to be replaced by one of faint worry. “What will we all do without someone to guide us? What dances will we dance? What music will we play?”

“You are mistaken,” a new voice spoke and Victor turned to discover that it belonged to the maid. “I was the one who slayed your master. His Lordship had merely wished to shield me from your vengeance.”

Victor’s surprise was without bounds at the sound of those words. He did not correct her, however, curious to learn what the maid intended to gain by this deception.

The others remained silent for the same reason.

“I am your new mistress now,” the maid declared, standing proudly with her head raised. “Will you accept me?”

The newcomer bowed, “Yes, mistress.”

“The castle is in a very sorry state. It will need repairs,” she went on. The new mistress of Lost Hope hesitated for a moment and then ordered her subject to return to the castle. “I will join you shortly,” she promised.

They watched the gentleman bow and leave, unable to break the silence.

At last she turned and met Sir Otabek’s eye. “You have been good masters to me, both of you, and I would invite you to come and visit me, but I suspect that His Lordship would be uncomfortable about returning to the place of his suffering.” She let her calm gaze drift over to Lord Yuri as she spoke.

He nodded, unsure what words were best in these circumstances.

Sir Otabek stepped forward. “Are you certain about this? If you go, you may not be able to return. We do not know their rules.”

“Why would I wish to return?” she asked with laughter in her voice. “I was never happy as a maid. I have no family in England.” Her smile turned sad. “They all died before I was born, sir.” She turned and looked at the castle of Lost Hope. “I think they could do with a bit of order in their land and I dare say I could do it. I always fancied myself the queen of a strange and distant land.”

Sir Otabek was silent. In all her time in his and Lord Yuri’s service the maid had hardly ever said more than ten words in one time. He had never singled her out from the other maids in his service and in that moment, despite his best efforts, could not recall her name.

“But you do not know any magic!” Lord Yuri protested, astonished and amazed by her decision.

“I was convinced that you do not know any either,” she replied simply and lowered her eyes to his hands.

Lord Yuri’s hands were still emitting a pale blue light.

“The magician must have done this…” Lord Yuri said, raising his hands. The glow faded and they looked just as they had done before – like two ordinary human hands.

“The faeries taught the Raven King how to be a magician. They can teach me as well,” she reasoned. “I can order them to,” she recalled with a faint laugh. Her expression grew grave and she walked over to where Victor still held Yuuri’s unconscious body. “Thank the magician for me, please,” she requested. “I know you will take good care of him.” She bent over Yuuri and smiled down at him. “You are always welcome here.”

The new queen of Lost Hope straightened up and repeated her invitation to them all. “Now, I do think that I have made my subjects wait long enough. Let the reign of Queen Minako begin!” she adjusted her clothes and set off with determination in every step.

The men watched her go and for a while none of them could bring themselves to say what was on their minds. At last, when the moment had passed, they allowed themselves to remember about their present circumstances.

Sir Otabek looked at Yuuri’s unconscious form. “How do we return to England?”

“The same way we arrived here, I imagine,” Lord Yuri answered.

Victor rested Yuuri’s head against his shoulder and led the way, carrying Yuuri in both arms.

 

The sun shone through the windows of the kitchen where the servants were preparing a meal for Mr. and Mrs. Nikiforov and Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki as well as Miss Katsuki. The parents spoke from time to time or returning to their homes, but still they remained here, determined to wait for the return of their sons.

The servants, having exhausted all manner of conversation on the topic of their masters’ return, spoke mostly about their day-to-day tasks, what little gossip there was going about the small town and the strangeness of the weather. This last topic led to talk of magic and the retelling of all the odd occurrences that were the talk of the countryside.

“It would seem that master Katsuki-Nikiforov is no longer the only practical magician,” one of the maids observed.

The butler gave her a look that warned her to guard her tongue.

“Do you believe these stories?” another maid asked. “I think there is not a grain of truth to them.”

The butler, tired of such talk, prepared to put a stop to it when one of the bells rang. He raised his eyes to the line of bells, glad for this reason to send one of the gossiping maids, when he saw which bell was ringing.

The library.

“The master has returned!” the second maid exclaimed. “I know he has! We shall have peace of mind at last!”

The butler took pity on the young woman and did not tell her who he thought was calling at such an hour: namely, that it was one of the parents of their masters, who, after hearing the sounds of a loud commotion that had come from the library hardly two hours ago, decided to investigate and was now summoning a servant to clear out the library.

In their masters’ absence, the servants avoided the library, as though they were forbidden to enter it without Yuuri or Victor’s permission. This was the reason why they had not gone to discover the reason for the commotion.

“Go see to them,” the butler ordered the maid.

She thanked him with a curtsey and rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. No one spoke a word after she left: they were all listening attentively for any sound that would tell them who had run the bell.

 

Victor’s strength gave out as soon as they all stepped into the library and he lowered himself into a chair, his hands still supporting Yuuri’s weight. He watched Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri talk about going home, lowering his eyes from time to time and making certain that he was still breathing.

London was several days’ journey from Yorkshire – a journey that could not be undertaken easily.

“If Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was awake, he could see to it that we arrive home in a matter of minutes, I am certain,” Sir Otabek said, “but, our circumstances being what they are, we have no choice but to hire a postal coach to take us home.”

Lord Yuuri frowned at the doorway that the faerie had created to connect Lost Hope and the magician’s library. “If I am a magician, perhaps I can perform the magic we require myself.”

“It is too dangerous,” Sir Otabek argued.

“You can remain here and wait until Yuuri regains consciousness,” Victor offered and bent his ear to Yuuri’s ear. He could just discern the faint sound of his breathing. “I worry it may be a long wait, but I will do my best to make certain that you are comfortable here,” he promised.

Sir Otabek shook his head. “No, we cannot impose on you and Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov in this manner.”

Victor did not argue. “Then I hope that you will accept my offer of carriage and driver?” He stroked Yuuri’s cheek gently with his fingers. “We will have no use for it for some time yet.”

“Very well,” Sir Otabek accepted. He caught Lord Yuri’s eye and saw him nod.

Victor rang the bell, relieved that the matter was settled at last.

The men said little to each other as they waited for someone to answer Victor’s call.

At last the maid ran in. She stared about the library in wonder, her gaze first drawn by her two masters, then their unexpected visitors and finally by the books strewn over the floor. Here was the explanation for the commotion, but she said nothing about it.

She curtseyed to Victor and waited for his orders.

“Tell the footmen to prepare the carriage for Sir Otabek and Lord Yuri,” Victor began. “Jack is to take them as far as they wish to go.” He studied his guests for some time before continuing. “You must eat before your journey. The servants will prepare something for you to eat.”

Judging his strength sufficiently restored, Victor rose to his feet with Yuuri still in his arms. “Come with me,” he ordered the maid. “Yuuri needs rest and looking after. I will need water and…” He felt himself sway from fatigue and hunger, “…something to eat,” he completed. “Do not trouble with setting the table in the dining room: I will eat in the bedchamber.”

“Master,” the maid spoke up at last, throwing a quick glance in the direction of the staircase that led down to the kitchens and the rest of the servants who would be both pleased and astonished to hear that their masters had returned in so abrupt a manner, “shall I tell Mr. and Mrs. Nikiforov and Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki that you have returned?”

He regarded her in a state of utmost confusion. “I will write to them both later, of course, but I am not at liberty to do so now.” He stepped out into the corridor, stopping only to give his visitors a farewell and to wish them a pleasant journey.

“They are still here, sir,” the maid told him, “with Miss Katsuki. They have been here, waiting for news of you and Master Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

Victor felt his strength failing him and it took all of his self-control to continue walking down the corridor. “You are quite right: they must be told at once,” he agreed and heard her rush away in the opposite direction.

He was too tired to give due consideration to his parents’ presence in his home. His only thought was one of relief that at last he could rest and be the master of his own time. The realization struck him as soon as he set Yuuri down on their bed.

Victor’s head dropped onto Yuuri’s chest and he wept, overcome with the terror that his freedom had come at too dear a price.

He did not stay alone with Yuuri for long, however – his family hurried to join him as soon as the maid had relayed the happy news.

Victor, who had been too lost in his feelings to notice the world about him, was brought out of them by the sudden and unexpected sensation of someone’s embrace. He heard the voice of his mother expressing her joy at their reunion.

“Oh, mother!” he exclaimed and dropped his head onto her shoulder. He found it impossible to continue – how could he speak of the hardships he had endured, or of how terrified he was for Yuuri’s well-being?

“What of Yuuri?” Mrs. Katsuki asked, her voice shaking.

Victor pulled free from his mother’s embrace. “He is merely asleep from fatigue,” he assured her.

He watched them take Yuuri’s hand one by one and reassure one another that Yuuri was alive, that he was merely tired and that he was breathing steadily like one in a very deep sleep.

They told him of their fears, of the long wait they had endured here, of some of the questions they did not dare to ask themselves or each other in that time.

“We did not know how long the wait would be,” Mr. Nikiforov said by way of an explanation.

Victor held Yuuri’s right hand in both of his own, reassured by the presence of the wedding band on Yuuri’s finger. “You need not wait any longer,” he declared and closed his eyes. There were so many of them in the room with him that he could not shake the feeling that he was at a ball once more and that they were watching him, expecting him to rise and dance. “Return to your homes. I will send word when Yuuri is well enough to receive visitors.”

“Victor,” his mother began as she placed a hand on his shoulder, “we wish to help you.”

He did not dare open his eyes, for fear that the sight of all the faces would force him to rise and dance despite himself. He knew that none of them were moving, but the feeling persisted that they were following the steps of a dance and could not stop. “No,” he said in a voice that would accept no argument, “Yuuri has me to look after him and I have maids enough to help me.” He opened his eyes at last and met their worried faces. “Please,” he insisted, “return to your homes. You have inconvenienced yourselves enough on our account. I am certain that if Yuuri were awake at this moment he would second my request.”

Mrs. Nikiforov prepared to argue that she was willing to endure anything for the sake of her sons when Mr. Nikiforov placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We understand,” he said on behalf of all of them and persuaded the others to follow him out of the room.

Victor was too tired to feel even gratitude for this small assistance.

 

After Victor saw them off, after he ate and slept, after he gave orders concerning the house to the servants, he found himself still waiting for Yuuri to awake. Not wishing to leave Yuuri even for an instant, he received everyone in his bedchamber and found great relief in the moment when everyone left.

A question occurred to him after several minutes passed in silent contemplation of Yuuri’s sleeping form. He rose to his feet and made his way to the dressing room, doing his best to keep an eye on Yuuri as he walked.

There was a mirror as tall as him in his dressing room that he had ordered shortly after his marriage with Yuuri. He stopped before it now and studied his reflection critically. He was still as beautiful as before. The weeks of separation from Yuuri had left no mark, had in no way diminished his beauty.

He made a sound of frustration. He had paid dearly for his vanity and it was only fair that the reason for his troubles should be no more, yet there he was – as bewitching as ever.

Determined that it should not remain so for long, he searched among his possessions – which were all laid out carefully on the small table before him, as they had always been – and picked out a pair of scissors. They were made from silver and were covered in small elaborate details along the handles. Yuuri had given them as a gift to Victor several years earlier. Now that day seemed like it had been decades ago.

Victor threw a fearful glance towards Yuuri, but the magician did not stir from his sleep. It took every ounce of Victor’s self-control to face his reflection as he raised the scissors to his head.

 

_A hand rose out of the ground, carrying a candle in its palm. A second hand rose. This one was carrying Victor as he slept, curled up like a child. The first hand tossed its candle aside and lowered itself over Victor. They meant to crush him, to extinguish his life with one simple movement._

_Yuuri’s heart beat fast in his chest and he called out in fear, “Victor!”_

Yuuri opened his eyes. He lay on something soft and comfortable. His surroundings were familiar to him, but it was some time before he could recall where he had seen them before.

Someone appeared before him. Like his surroundings, he was at once familiar and unrecognizable. This familiar stranger uttered Yuuri’s name and questioned him about his well-being.

Yuuri attempted to sit up, but collapsed back on the pillows, having no strength to remain upright.

At last it occurred to him that he was in his house in Yorkshire, lying on his own bed and that Victor was sitting at his side, but something about him was different and several minutes went by before he could identify what it was.

“Your hair is short! Did the faerie…?” he began, but found it impossible to finish.

“No, no,” Victor reassured him, adjusting the pillow under Yuuri’s head. “I cut it off myself.” He gave Yuuri a sad smile. “My beauty is to blame for all our troubles, so I dare not keep it. Perhaps now that I am ugly, faeries will no longer be interested in me.”

Yuuri reached out and let his fingers trail over Victor’s hair. “You are as beautiful as ever. This shorter hair suits you even better.”

Victor laughed. “You need not flatter me! But what of you? Do you feel restored to full health?”

“I feel tired, that is all,” Yuuri assured him. After a brief pause he allowed himself a smile. “And I confess that I feel a bit of hunger as well.”

“Ah!” Victor exclaimed, turning crimson with embarrassment. “Of course! How could I forget? Do forgive me!”

As Victor rang for a servant and gave the order to bring food the suspicion stole over Yuuri that something was still amiss. The feeling was akin to that of a man strolling down a street familiar to him, but for one small change. The houses all appear to be much as they had been before, but there is a difference that is ever so slight. Perhaps the normally quiet street is now loud, or the other way around. Perhaps there is usually a crowd here, but now it is empty. Something small, yet very significant is different about the place.

At first it struck Yuuri as odd that Victor would be forgetful enough to not have a meal ready for the time when Yuuri awoke. This was not because Yuuri expected to have every single wish of his granted, but because he knew that Victor did his best to anticipate all of his wishes. Next Yuuri observed the manner in which Victor moved about the room and how he spoke. At last, Yuuri noted how he smiled and laughed even when what he said was not very amusing.

They were both acting as though nothing had happened when it was all too obvious that it had and that there was no way to undo what had been done to them both.

At last came the final discovery: when Victor turned away to accept a tray from the maid and to give her further instructions Yuuri held out his hands and whispered several words.

“What was that, my love?” Victor asked, turning his head back to face him.

Yuuri frowned and spoke louder this time. The words had been in a different language and he had not expected Victor or the maid to understand, but – in a different way – they both understood all too well.

He raised his hands to study them as though he could no longer recognize them as his own and took a deep breath. “I cannot do any magic,” he whispered in fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted in this chapter is from Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell itself and was written by Susanna Clarke. I confess that I really like it, so I couldn’t resist slipping in a little excerpt. Here is the full version:  
> Not long, not long my father said  
> Not long shall you be ours  
> The Raven King knows all too well  
> Which are the fairest flowers.
> 
> The priest was all too worldly  
> Though he prayed and rang his bell  
> The Raven King three candles lit  
> The priest said it was well
> 
> Her arms were all too feeble  
> Though she claimed to love me so  
> The Raven King stretched out his hand  
> She sighed and let me go
> 
> The land is all too shallow  
> It is painted on the sky  
> And trembles like the wind-shook rain  
> When the Raven King goes by
> 
> For always and for always  
> I pray remember me  
> Upon the moors, beneath the stars  
> With the King’s wild company.


	15. A Magician without Magic

“Perhaps you are merely tired,” Victor suggested, returning the tray to the maid’s hands and approaching Yuuri to place his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“Before, regardless of how tired I was, I could always do magic,” Yuuri protested.

“Eat, Yuuri,” Victor insisted. “You need to restore your strength first. How long has it been since you last ate a proper meal?”

Yuuri considered this for a long time before admitting, “I do not know.”

Victor brushed his hair aside. “Let me take care of you.” The pain he felt was there in his eyes.

The feeling was so strong that Yuuri could feel it cutting into his heart. “Yes,” he accepted without argument.

The pain remained as Victor placed the tray on Yuuri’s knees and watched him eat.

Yuuri felt like one waking from a long illness, or a terrible dream. He told himself that it was all behind him now, but still the memories flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

First came the impostor that turned into a corpse with Victor’s features.

Yuuri dropped his fork and trembled.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed in alarm. “What is the matter?” He looked about himself. “Should I call for a doctor?”

“The faerie attempted to deceive me…” Yuuri recalled and placed his hands over his eyes. “There was a _creature_ made to resemble you and he – it – died and…” Tears filled his eyes to overflowing. “Your mother I buried a corpse with your face!” he exclaimed and sobs shook his body.

Victor attempted to soothe him and stroked Yuuri’s head. “I am here now.”

There was too much in Yuuri’s heart. It was filled to bursting with unpleasant thoughts and memories. The recollection of a corpse with Victor’s face made way for thoughts of candles and pineapples, which made him raise a hand to where the pocket of his jacket was, only to discover that he was dressed solely in his nightshirt now.

“I had a bottle with a tincture,” he told Victor.

“I put it away. You must eat first, Yuuri,” Victor insisted.

He did into argue, but his thoughts persisted in returning to the tincture he had made. Did he need it to do magic? Did this mean that there was no other way for him to be a magician anymore? The possibility was troubling.

They sat in silence, but Yuuri – whose mind was full of all manner of thoughts – did not notice that Victor, who usually had many things to tell Yuuri, did not speak a word this time.

After Yuuri ate, Victor called the maid to take the tray away and walked to the window. He contemplated the view in silence for some time before turning away and returning to Yuuri’s side. “The day promises to be a pleasant one: the flowers in the garden are in full bloom and I expect that it is warm. Do you have strength for a walk?”

Yuuri slipped out of the bed and stood before Victor. He expected to sway and fall, but his legs kept him upright. “I believe so.”

He dressed and they went outside for a stroll. The garden welcomed them with familiar smells and large blooms, as though it rejoiced at being reunited with its masters. The sun warmed them with its rays and a gentle breeze played with their hair.

Yuuri stopped to watch a gust of wind toss Victor’s short hair into his eyes. Victor struggled and Yuuri turned him to face the wind.

“I never struggled like this when I had long hair,” Victor complained. Yuuri watched him put on a smile and make light of his troubles, but it only served to make the pain appear more obviously than before.

A tear rolled down Victor’s cheek and then another. He put his hands over his face. “Do forgive me,” he said.

Yuuri pulled Victor’s hands gently off his face as he felt tears on his own cheeks. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I adopted the habit of smiling,” Victor explained, “when I have no wish to smile and I am terrified of angering the person I am speaking to.”

“You do not need to smile, if you have no wish to do so,” Yuuri told him. “Come.” He drew Victor to where the rosebushes were all in bloom and placed his fingers around the stem of one of the flowers. He willed the magic to come, but it refused to listen to him.

He could recall every spell he had studied, but when he attempted it, nothing happened. There was none of that joy, that thrill that doing magic brought to him and that could not be compared to anything else.

Yuuri thought of a time when he had charmed Victor with his magic, of the way Victor had regarded him when he did any magic and despaired.

Evening drew over the garden, sending them back into the house. Darkness followed them into the house, slipping in through the windows and lurking in all the corners. Candles burned in the rooms and corridors, but they could not keep the darkness back.

Yuuri and Victor retired to the sitting room where they settled down side by side on the sofa. They remained in silence, both of them too preoccupied with their private thoughts to speak.

Yuuri thought of his tincture. He longed to make use of it, convinced that several of its drops would be sufficient to restore his magical abilities. However, his imagination failed to provide him with a satisfactory excuse for asking Victor for its whereabouts. Instinct told him that simply asking for it was not wise. Worse still, he could not even think of a suitable way to introduce the subject.

Had he explained to Victor what the tincture was for? He could not recall.

Victor brought himself closer to Yuuri and put his husband’s arms around himself. “What are you think about?” he asked in a whisper, as though afraid of being overheard.

“I am attempting to explain to myself why I cannot do magic anymore,” he admitted. Another thought occurred to him then and he added, “Perhaps I should not look upon it as a great loss. I cannot say that I made a good magician. What had I done with all the abilities at my disposal?”

Victor protested, recalling the war and the services Yuuri had done for the ministers. “And what of your book of magic?” he asked. “Did you complete it? I was looking forward to reading everything you learned about magic!”

“I left it unfinished,” Yuuri admitted. “I came close to completing it, but I never got something I was happy with.” He could return to it now. He could direct all his energies into completing the book now that both Victor and Lord Yuri were safe from the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

Again his thoughts returned to the tincture and he was suddenly aware of the number of candles in the room. They burned bright like the candles in people’s heads. Would he see those candles once more after he drank the tincture? The thought alone was enough to fill him with dread and fear.

He recalled then how he had changed after drinking the tincture and that – at times – he became not just different, but a different person entirely, someone confident and not at all like himself. He remembered the fascination with which Victor had regarded him and thought again and again of how he had charmed Victor with his magic. He had to become a magician once more. The thought that one day Victor would regard him with indifference because of his lack of ability was too much to bear.

Outside a strong rain began to fall, soon joined by a loud wind that fought to find a way into the house, howling in every opening as though they were surrounded on all sides by creatures who were in pain.

Yuuri shuddered and Victor pulled him closer.

The sound brought with it a memory of fields littered with corpses, the banners flapping in the wind and the armour gleaming in the moonlight.

“Yuuri?” Victor called softly.

“No, no! I cannot!” he exclaimed and took a long shuddering breath.

“What is troubling you, my love?” Victor asked.

Yuuri turned his head and met Victor’s eye. “I cannot do magic and I doubt that I ever will.” He lowered his head into his hands. “I cannot be the man you married all those years ago.”

For a while Victor was silent. “I love you for who are, magician or not.” He raised Yuuri’s head with both hands and looked into his eyes. He saw the turmoil in Yuuri’s heart, saw the way all the sounds around them troubled him and felt his heart break. “You saved me,” he whispered. “Now it is my turn to save you.”

Yuuri gave him a long sad look. “You are always saving me,” he said.

“Will you object to it in this instance?” Victor asked. He took Yuuri’s right hand and gave it a long squeeze. “In our time apart I think we both forgot what it means to be married to someone, but I am ready to fulfil my duty now.”

Yuuri watched Victor rub his hands over his own in a gesture meant to soothe and reassure him. His heart ached.

In a strange paradox now that he was reunited with Victor he was convinced that he would never find happiness. As the night outside grew darker he imagined he could hear the faerie army marching through the fields.

“Yuuri?” Victor called once more.

“I can hear them,” he whispered, “I can hear the clanging of their armour as they march towards us.”

Victor did not ask “who?” He recalled with excellent clarity the corpses of an army he saw lying out in the fields and knew Yuuri was speaking of them.

“They are not here,” Victor whispered back. “We are the only ones in the house, save a dozen servants, and all of us would lay our lives down for you.”

Victor talked for a long time. He told Yuuri about each servant in their house and assured Yuuri of their loyalty to him. Next he spoke about their neighbours and how well they all thought of Yuuri. When he got to speaking about Mr. Hyde Yuuri trembled with fear and talked again about a person with Victor’s face. He spoke as if Victor was someone else, as if Victor had been lost. Try as he might, Victor could not reassure him.

Victor summoned a servant and they made a sedative for Yuuri based on instructions Victor had gotten from a doctor several years ago.

He lay Yuuri down into bed, but did not join him. He was overcome with a restlessness himself and sleep was impossible until he had paced the length of the room for at least an hour. When fatigue claimed him at last he rejoined Yuuri. As his eyes closed a plan began to form in his mind.

The following day he rose earlier than Yuuri and began to act upon it at once.

He changed the furniture in every room and ordered the paintings to be taken down. He wrote to merchants in York, inquiring after the furniture they had in their stores.

While Victor was thus occupied, he made certain that Yuuri spent most of his days out of doors. They were in the garden from sunrise to sunset, taking strolls down their grounds, or enjoying an afternoon tea. Out in the bright sunshine Yuuri suffered less from unpleasant thoughts.

The nights were difficult on them both. Yuuri would wake up terrified, his face wet from tears. “Victor!” he would exclaim in the dark. “Victor! Where are you?”

“I am here, Yuuri,” Victor would whisper in return as he held his husband close. “It is no illusion, or dream. I am here and I will always be here by your side.”

Yuuri would sob and remain inconsolable until Victor would rise and draw Yuuri out of bed and persuade him to take a walk together.

Too often Victor worried that Yuuri’s condition would never improve. He considered calling for a doctor, but doubt would always stop him before he could send someone.

Two dozen days after their return from Faerie they received two visitors they did not expect.

It had been another pleasant morning. Yuuri and Victor were taking tea in the garden when a servant came to the table.

“Sir,” he said with a bow each for Victor and Yuuri.

“What is the matter, Jeremy?” Victor asked, pouring Yuuri more tea.

“There are two visitors here to see you.” He hesitated before clarifying, “That is – to see Master Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

Yuuri and Victor exchanged a look.

“Who can it possibly be?” Yuuri asked. “I received no letter, nor any other warning that someone would come here to see me. I am expecting no one.”

“Who are they, Jeremy?” Victor asked, resolving that it was easier to get straight to the point than to keep making guesses.

“Mr. Guang Hong Ji and Mr. Leo de la Iglesia,” came the reply.

This made Yuuri and Victor exchange another look.

“I did not invite them to come here,” Yuuri assured his husband. “What brings them here now, I wonder?”

Victor reached out and placed a hand over Yuuri’s before giving the order. “Bring them here,” he said calmly.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy bowed and left to carry out the order.

A feeling of unease came over Victor as they waited for Jeremy to return with their visitors. Yuuri was silent and Victor could think of nothing to say which did not sound contrived.

When the two men arrived Victor was conscious at once of the expressions on their faces, which spoke openly of their happiness. The men were never of the disposition to lament the hardships that life had thrown their way, but such an open show of joy was rare for them.

“Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki!” they exclaimed nearly at the same time. “We are very glad to see you have returned!”

Here Mr. de la Iglesia went silent, granting Mr. Ji the honour of being the sole person to speak.

“It would seem that magic has returned to England at last!” Mr. Ji exclaimed.

Yuuri and Victor exchanged a look.

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Ji?” Victor asked.

“Have you not heard?” Mr. Ji asked with open surprise. “The Faerie Roads have all opened! Children in every county in North England are doing magic and…” He hesitated and threw a shy glance at Mr. de la Iglesia. “I can do magic as well! At last, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, I can make use of your lessons in magic!”

The two visitors watched Yuuri, no doubt expecting him to share in their joy and acknowledge that fortune smiled on them all at last.

Yuuri was silent. He felt the full weight of their expectations. He knew also that Victor was watching to see how he would respond – would he reveal the horrible secret that he was completely powerless now?

The silence went on for a long time until even Mr. Ji began to suspect that something was amiss.

“You must forgive my husband,” Victor spoke up at last. “We have both faced terrible trials. Yuuri put himself in harm’s way to rescue me and has still not recovered.”

Mr. de la Iglesia was the first to respond while Mr. Ji stared in mute amazement. “We understand, of course,” he assured them both. “Perhaps when Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov has sufficiently recovered you can tell us where you were and how you returned home.”

“Certainly!” Victor promised. He rose, walked around the table and stood behind Yuuri’s chair. “It is a thrilling tale,” he declared, forgetting himself for a moment, “and must be told one day.”

Yuuri protested that, on the contrary, it was not that extraordinary when one considered what had happened before any events took place.

The visitors found themselves torn between politeness and the desire to know what had befallen Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov and Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki.

Mr. Ji hoped they would be invited to stay for tea and that in a conversation about magic and the future of magic the subject would come up once more and they would learn all the details of Yuuri’s noble deed.

However, Victor did not grant their wish and they had no choice but to take their leave of Victor and Yuuri with the promise of returning some other time. After lengthy farewells which were full of all sorts of promises, the two men were at last free to leave.

Victor watched them go in silence.

As soon as they were out of sight Yuuri dropped his head in his hands. “What use is a magician if he cannot do magic for others? I should not let them nurture false hope – I will never recover the use of my magic and I will never be able to teach Mr. Ji magic.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Yuuri had to admit that he had no reason for insisting on this other than his own suspicions and listened to Victor assure him that his magic would return.

Who knew where magic came from and where it went? He still did not know why he had been singled out to be England’s sole magician for so long. He did have a suspicion, however, as to the reason for the roads reappearing and the discovery of so many magicians in the country.

“It is my fault,” he said aloud, interrupting Victor mid-sentence.

“What is?” he asked.

“That magic is everywhere one looks. I opened the roads to Faerie and allowed its magic to enter England. What other explanation could there be?”

Victor gave him a look of amazement before asking the first question that occurred to him, “Why did you do such a thing?”

He recalled his despair after Victor’s disappearance, how hard he had fought to get to Faerie to find Victor and had his answer at once. “Because I knew no other way to you and forced my way in,” he explained simply.

Victor placed his hand over Yuuri’s. “My love,” he said, “I am deeply touched by such strong attachment.”

Unfortunately, Yuuri’s mind was too preoccupied with other thoughts to see the expression with which Victor regarded him.

Three hundred years ago the Faerie roads had disappeared and England had learned to live without magicians and without magic, he recalled. Now he had forced magic to return and the roads were opened onto strange lands that no English man or woman had seen for more than three hundred years.

“What have I done?” Yuuri exclaimed, placing his hands over his eyes.

“Yuuri?” Victor called.

“There will be many magicians in England now and I cannot help any of them!” he lamented. “What have I done?” He wrung his hands in despair, cursing himself for his lack of consideration for the consequences.

“You can help them,” Victor contradicted him. “That book of yours – when it is finished magicians can turn to it for help.”

“Yes, of course!” Yuuri exclaimed and, forgetting about everything else, ran into the house and up the staircase to enter the library at once.

He found the library locked and had to wait until Victor arrived and opened it with a key he carried with him. Every passing minute served only to increase Yuuri’s impatience. At last, when he entered it occurred to him that he had made a mistake in sending Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia away empty-handed. He ought to have given them some of his books of magic. Perhaps, they would be able to understand them now.

He took one from the shelf at random and opened it to see which one it was, but its pages were all blank. It tumbled out of his hands onto the floor and he rushed to take the next one off the shelf. It was also blank.

A desperate search through every book in his collection revealed the full horror of his situation: he would do no magic and he did not have a single book of magic left in his possession with which to do it.

He gave a loud gasp and made a dash for the table, remembering about the notes he had made for his book. The papers that littered it were all blank.

Yuuri dropped into his chair.

“Yuuri?” Victor called.

“It is all gone,” he whispered. “Everything I worked so hard for is gone.”

“Perhaps it is better this way,” Victor suggested. “You cannot do magic anymore and you no longer need to worry about it. Leave the magic to the new magicians.”

Yuuri was silent. Victor could see that the idea did not please him. He had taken a lot of pride in being a magician. It would be a long time before he accepted that he was no longer one.

He sat in the chair with his head lowered and Victor knew that all the changes he had attempted to make in the house were in vain. Everything here reminded Yuuri of the magic he had lost.

“You should look upon it as the freedom to do what you desire,” Victor told Yuuri. “Now, at last, when you are no longer England’s sole practical magician we can go on a journey without worrying about others.”

Yuuri stared at him as though Victor was speaking a foreign language.

Victor lowered himself onto his knees before Yuuri. “For a long time I longed to see Venice. Will you grant me my wish at last?”

There could be no argument made against such an entreaty and, hard as it was for Yuuri to leave Yorkshire, he agreed.

In the days that followed they both worked hard to make all the necessary preparations for travel to the Continent. Their carriage had been made as comfortable as possible for their long journey.

When the day fixed upon for their departure came Yuuri felt as though someone was tearing a part of his soul away. He sat in the carriage with his gaze fixed on the window, watching the house until it disappeared from view. The landscape of Yorkshire drifted by and still he did not look away.

They had to stop at regular intervals to change horses. Each time they would take the opportunity to stretch their legs while they waited. When evenings caught up with them they would find an inn in which to spend the night.

Victor slept more peacefully now. The journey would leave him exhausted and as soon as his head touched the pillow he would fall asleep, but Yuuri still found sleep impossible.

He sat up in their bed and watched Victor sleep by the pale light of the moon that fell in through the window. The moonlight made Victor appear paler than he was. Yuuri traced out the line of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. He did his best not to think of the deep darkness about him.

He had not touched a drop of that draught, but he had found it the day before they left Yorkshire and now he always kept it close. He could not explain why he had done so, but some instinct, perhaps a premonition, told him to take it.

The night was cold, but still Victor slept on, his warm body pressing lightly against Yuuri’s and giving him a share of his warmth.

The darkness was all around them, refusing to retreat before Victor’s calming presence. The darkness spilled over the floor and crawled up the wall. It was on all sides of him, closing in on him with every minute. It was inside him, slipping into his mouth and eyes until the moonlight faded away and he could not see Victor any longer.

He felt around for Victor’s hand and clung on to it, using it as his anchor in the dark.

 

Yuuri awoke, feeling warm sunshine on his face. When he opened his eyes he saw Victor – dressed and ready to continue the journey.

“Good morning, my love,” Victor said. “Breakfast is waiting for us. Forgive me for not waking you. You slept so deeply that it seemed a shame to interrupt your sleep.”

Yuuri sat up. “I will join you for breakfast soon.”

Victor was returning to his old habits. At breakfast he recounted to Yuuri all he had learned about the gossip of the area. He allowed himself a small joke and acted in every way that showed plainly that to him Yuuri’s magicless condition was not permanent and would heal soon.

Yuuri made no allusion to his own state, as though he shared Victor’s belief that it was temporary.

In this way, they crossed all of England until they reached the English Channel where a boat carried them across to France. The sea was calm and the crossing was uneventful. Yuuri stood on the deck and watched the waves, thinking of his voyage across the sea to Portugal. Victor was at his side, one arm wrapped around Yuuri’s as he stared out across the English Channel.

As they travelled through the Continent Yuuri alternated between two different feelings. At times he felt as though he was merely there to observe Victor’s delight with each new place. At other times he forgot all about his troubles and allowed himself to share Victor’s joy.

 

One afternoon as they returned from their first walk around Padua a stranger approached them.

“You will forgive, I hope,” he began, “the impudence with which I come to you now, but when I heard from the innkeeper that there were two other travellers staying here my curiosity was piqued and I wished to meet you. I am Christophe Giacometti,” he introduced himself with a bow, “and I myself have come here from Lucerne, which you may have passed on your way here.”

Mr. Giacometti spoke with politeness, but a smile played on his lips, suggesting that he found some amusement in this exchange.

Yuuri studied him as he prepared a suitable response to this greeting. He was about to introduce himself when he remembered that – for some time at least – his name was in every paper and would, therefore, be familiar to the traveller.

“I am Victor Nikiforov and this is Yuuri, my husband,” Victor spoke up, dropping half of their family name.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Giacometti said and they shook hands.

Victor invited the man to join them and listened to him talk about his travels.

Mr. Giacometti was an excellent speaker. Gifted not only with intelligence, but with a sense of humour as well, he succeeded in making Victor and Yuuri laugh several times, winning both men over completely.

Victor watched Yuuri laugh for the first time in weeks and told himself that he was now in Mr. Giacometti’s debt. As interesting as his new acquaintance was, his eye continued to return to Yuuri, who listened with a smile on his face.

Victor reached out and placed his hand over Yuuri’s. “Where are you headed, Mr. Giacometti?”

He smiled at both men. “Ah. I must confess that I have no set destination in mind. I go wherever my fancy takes me. Where are you both travelling?”

“Venice,” Yuuri answered with perfect ease.

Victor gave Yuuri’s hand a squeeze as he saw in his face the same wish as he felt in his own heart. “We can travel together, if you have no objections, Mr. Giacometti, and explore Venice together.”

Mr. Giacometti looked from one man to the other. “It will be a great pleasure,” he told them. “Are you certain that I will not get in your way? When on their wedding trip, newlyweds generally prefer each other’s company over that of anyone else.”

Victor laughed at this and even Yuuri smiled.

“Have I said something wrong?” Mr. Giacometti asked, giving them both looks of surprise.

‘Yuuri and I married each other several years ago,” Victor explained as his right hand slid over Yuuri’s. “This is not a wedding trip for us.”

Mr. Giacometti apologized. “When I saw how openly in love with each other you two are, I assumed that you were newlyweds. It is sad – is it not? – to reflect that many people are affectionate with one another only at the beginning of their marriage and grow indifferent towards each other as time goes by.”

“Very sad indeed,” Victor agreed.

They finished their breakfast and spent the rest of the day walking around Padua, admiring the city. It seemed to both Victor and Yuuri that Mr. Giacometti had knowledge of many topics, which he was always willing to share with anyone who would listen. This does not mean that it was Mr. Giacometti’s intention to be their guide. On the contrary, he told them right away that he had no knowledge of the history of any place. He had – he claimed – no memory for dates and names and could not tell them who had built such and such a place. He did, however, have a gift for recounting all the gossip he had heard and amused his new acquaintances with tales of scandals from long ago. These were all recounted with such exaggeration that both Yuuri and Victor soon became convinced that they were all a product of Mr. Giacometti imagination.

The following day the three of them set off together, travelling in one coach and Mr. Giacometti’s stories kept them company throughout the journey.

They arrived in Venice by nightfall. Tired as they were by the hardships of the journey, they found enough strength to admire the picturesque houses and dark canals of the city.

Victor took in the sight of all the marvels Venice had to offer with open admiration. At times, when his eye was caught by something he considered exceptional, he would call out to Yuuri to point it out to him. They sat side by side, at the front of the boat, arms around each other as the city floated by like a dream.

They took rooms on the main island, at the inn where Miss Katsuki had stayed during her visit.

That night Yuuri found himself perfectly at peace for the first time once he had reunited with Victor. After a night of dreamless sleep he awoke to find Victor still asleep at his side. Not wishing to disturb him, Yuuri lay still.

The morning sun’s rays shone inside through the windows, filling the room with a warm light. Somewhere outside birds sang. Yuuri could hear the gentle splashing of the waves and the occasional cry of a merchant, or perhaps a gondolier.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered. He placed a hand over Yuuri’s cheek, “Are you happy here?”

“I am,” Yuuri assured him. He could not explain why he also spoke in a whisper, but loud noises did not seem right in that moment.

They lay side by side, listening to the sounds that were coming from the window and to each other’s hearts.

It was still too early for breakfast, Yuuri thought, and he knew by the smile that Victor gave him that he was of the same opinion.

 

Two hours later they were taking breakfast in their room when Jeremy came to announce Mr. Giacometti’s arrival.

The man entered, greeted them both, declined their offer of breakfast, accepting only a cup of tea and sat down at the table.

“I confess I was beginning to consider sending someone to inquire if all was well,” he began.

Victor and Yuuri exchanged a look that betrayed their embarrassment.

“I am glad to see that all is well,” Mr. Giacometti went on, giving them both a look that told them that he saw all and would not be fooled by any excuse they chose to make.

Yuuri opened his mouth, prepared to give a reason for their late breakfast when Victor spoke up, “Did you already decide what we should do today?”

Mr. Giacometti laughed. “I admit that I considered the question, but – thanks to some personal business that required my attention this morning – I had not had the opportunity to question our landlord on the subject.”

“In that case – and if you have no objections – I have several recommendations myself from Yuuri’s sister who had visited Venice and fell in love with it,” Victor announced.

“Excellent!” Mr. Giacometti exclaimed. “It saves me the trouble of asking. The landlord did not strike me as a very talkative man.”

The day that followed was like a dream. They walked down cobblestone streets, admiring the houses on either side of them. The white stone churches appeared on every street and Victor felt compelled to enter every single one.

They ate in a café that stood by the water’s edge. Yuuri sat with his chair nearest the water and suppressed the fear that something would slide out of the water, seize him by the ankle and drag him into the cold waters below.

Victor sat in the sunshine, his laughter tinkling like glass in that bright day.

Mr. Giacometti sat in the long shadow cast by the nearby house. His voice constantly filled the air, but Yuuri could not understand a word he said – he was listening to the sound of the water hitting the stones.

The sound made him think of English rain.

He raised his head and saw the love with which Victor regarded him and all thoughts of magic slipped from his mind. Victor’s eyes were the blue of a clear summer sky, making him feel as though he was sitting in the sun just like Victor.

They spent the afternoon and evening that followed exploring the city on foot. After the sun set and the moon rose Victor invited Yuuri to a boat ride.

This time Mr. Giacometti did not come with them.

Venice showed them more of its secrets that night, or so Yuuri thought at the time, but in the clear light of the morning that followed he was no longer certain if he had seen it all or dreamt it.

Day after day went by in this manner, passing like a dream. Yuuri lived like one who had started a new life entirely. The days were spent studying the city on foot, or from a boat. It was easy to see why Mari had fallen in love with this city; it was much harder to remain indifferent to it.

They passed a month in this manner and one morning Yuuri found himself wondering over breakfast how necessary it was for them to return home. Could they remain here? Who had decided that they had to return?

The three of them sat around a table in a café they had discovered a week ago. The place had very quickly become their favourite place for breakfast. One week was enough for all the waiters to learn their names and their preferences.

This café was made up of tables that spilled out onto the street, allowing the travellers to admire the passersby as they took their breakfast.

A waiter walked past them, carrying a tray covered with fruit to the table next to theirs. Yuuri watched absent-mindedly as the man at the table shifted the fruits around to reveal several pineapple slices. A shudder passed over Yuuri’s shoulders.

The bottle was still in the pocket of his jacket, it weight heavy against his heart.

Life was better without magic, Yuuri told himself. For the first time in many years he had the freedom to do whatever he liked. Like so many times before, he told himself again that he had made a very poor magician and this time he was certain that he believed himself.

He avoided looking at the pineapple and kept his eyes fixed on Victor’s smiling face instead. Despite his determination, he kept coming back to thoughts of the pineapple. A strange fear came over him then. He began to think this was a premonition of some kind and that something was coming for him.

When evening came he rose partway through a conversation, apologized both to Victor and Mr. Giacometti and told them that he needed some fresh air.

“Yuuri,” Victor rose as well and took his husband’s hand, “is something the matter?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Yuuri reassured him. “I feel restless, that is all. Please go on without me.”

Victor studied the expression on Yuuri’s face and saw that his husband wished for some time alone.

“Very well, then,” he said with a smile. “Promise me that you will not go far and that you will not be away for long.”

“I promise,” Yuuri said and Victor accepted his word with a nod. He followed Yuuri out until they were in the corridor alone. “Be careful,” he whispered and gave Yuuri a brief kiss.

Yuuri only nodded at this. “I will.”

Victor stood and watched him leave and waited until he was gone from sight before returning to Mr. Giacometti.

Yuuri had no specific destination in mind. As soon as he slipped out of the inn, he allowed his feet lead the way and followed where they went. He walked this way until the end of the street where he turned and walked down the next, then turned again and took a third. This one took him to the edge of the island and he had to turn back around to avoid going into the water.

As he passed a row of houses he noticed a man standing in one of their shadows. There was something familiar about him, but Yuuri could not recall where he had seen him before. The figure made him uneasy. He turned away from it and forced himself to focus on his walking. There were too many memories buried in his mind that he did not wish to disturb.

An uncomfortable feeling made him turn his head and he saw that the man was following him now. He had a very wild and unkempt look, which made Yuuri fear that he meant to attack and rob him.

Yuuri quickened his steps, prepared to run if necessary, but the man overtook him before Yuuri could act on this thought.

“Did you think you could hide from me, magician?” the man exclaimed.

Yuuri retreated and prepared to run in the other direction. “I am not a magician!” he protested.

The man caught him by the wrists and held him in a vice-like grip. “But you _are_! You know you are!”

At last Yuuri looked his attacker straight in the eye. Who was this man who dared to argue about magic with him? He saw the knowing grin, the mocking smile and took in the man’s rags. Here and there a patch of blue skin could be seen, peeking out of his clothes and he remembered who the man was.

Georgi, the yellow curtain magician, was standing before him, as though Yuuri had returned to the heart of London.

“It took me a long time to find you, magician,” Georgi told him.

“Why were you looking for me?” Yuuri asked.

“Did you think you could run from your destiny?” Georgi asked. “Or from what you are?”

“I am no magician,” Yuuri admitted with a sigh. “I cannot do magic anymore. Surely you will not continue to insist that I am a magician when I am powerless?”

“When the magicians of York had no magic they were still considered magicians,” Georgi reminded him.

“That is different,” Yuuri countered. “Those were theoretical magicians. I am speaking of practical magicians.”

This argument made Georgi laugh. “Do you truly believe that the Raven King ever made such a distinction?”

“What do you know of the Raven King?” Yuuri snapped. “He left England 300 years ago and has never returned since! We must learn to make our own path without him.”

Yuuri’s anger only made Georgi laugh harder. “Do you think you have made a single decision that was your own? Do you think you have any control over the path you have taken?”

Georgi’s words made Yuuri’s blood run cold.

“ _A magician will come to England_ _,” Georgi whispered, raising his arms in time with the words._ _“He will long to see me, but I will remain beyond his reach. He will aspire to greatness, but will be the cause of his own undoing. He will give his heart away and yet always feel it ache._ _What do you say to that, magician?”_

_The words certainly reflected the events of his life. What did that mean? That it had all been fate? That someone was controlling his life along with the decisions he was making? Was this what Georgi was suggesting?_

_No, Yuuri told himself, he would not be frightened in this way. It had all been coincidence and nothing more than that. It could not be more than that. “I do not know what you wish to gain with this deception,” he said coldly, “but I will not allow it.”_

_Georgi gave him a coy look. “And now you believe that you have no magical abilities and can do nothing.”_

_Yuuri was prepared to protest, but, reasoning that this was just what Georgi wanted, he changed his mind and said nothing._

_“Once magic takes hold of you it will never release you from its hold. You know that. I can see it in your eyes.” Georgi leaned closer and whispered, “The Raven King is not done with you yet.”_

_He released Yuuri, turned on his heel and walked away with the easy air of someone who had done what they had set out to do._

_Yuuri stared after him in amazement, unable to shake the feeling that Georgi was about to return, but the man did not even turn around to look back over his shoulder._

_He returned to Victor and Mr. Giacometti with his thoughts in complete disarray, feeling more troubled than he had felt when he had left._

_Upon his return he found Mr. Giacometti and Victor sitting in silence. Both men greeted him with a smile. Victor rose to take Yuuri by the hands_

 

“Your husband was very worried about you, Mr. Nikiforov,” Mr. Giacometti told Yuuri. “He must have mentioned your name at least ten times in the last quarter of an hour and would have set out in search for you, if you had not returned just now.”

“Was I away long?” Yuuri asked, colouring a little at the thought of making Victor worry.

“Only 30 minutes,” Mr. Giacometti replied in his usual easy manner.

“Forgive me, Yuuri,” Victor said, pressing one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips. “You know how uneasy I become when we are apart.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Yuuri told him as his thoughts returned to his conversation with Georgi.

“Where did you go, Yuuri?” Victor asked.

“I did not go further than the next street,” Yuuri answered. Victor asked him another question, but he did not hear it and did not know what answer he gave him.

Victor’s hands gave Yuuri’s a gentle squeeze, bringing Yuuri’s attention back to his husband. “You are tired, my love,” he observed. “Come, let us retire for the night.”

Yuuri allowed Victor to lead him away without argument and they both wished Mr. Giacometti a good night before leaving the room.

Victor led Yuuri into their rooms without saying a word until the door closed behind them whereupon Victor turned to meet Yuuri’s eye and asked him, “What is the matter? You have turned so pale! Did you see something that upset you?”

Yuuri hesitated before speaking. He knew that Georgi’s words would worry Victor, but what else would he say? How would Victor react to Georgi’s insinuations that Yuuri was still a magician?

Yuuri knew that he had not left his magic behind. After all – why else was it constantly on his mind? More than that, he understood now that over the past few days he had been in denial.

“I am merely tired,” Yuuri lied.

Victor took Yuuri’s face with both his hands. “My love, you look terrified!”

This was true: he was very terrified indeed.

“I will not force you to speak of it, if you would rather not,” Victor reassured him. “You need rest.”

Yuuri did not protest and returned to their bedchamber as though he was truly in need of rest. His mind was filled with all manner of thoughts that made sleep impossible. Still he pretended that he was asleep when Victor joined him and said nothing when Victor slipped in between his arms, putting his own around Yuuri. The hours drifted by. Beside him Victor breathed with the steady rhythm of someone in deep sleep.

Taking great care, Yuuri slipped free of Victor’s arms. He pulled on his dressing gown and stepped out of the room to find where he had left the tincture.

The bottle still held half of the brown tincture he had made. He left the room, taking care to tiptoe down the steps as quietly as possible. It was simple enough to find the kitchens and the work of a minute to find some wine to pour into a glass. He added two drops of the tincture to it, took a deep breath and downed the contents of the glass in one gulp.

The darkness in the kitchen shifted and he felt all the shadows turn to look at him.

He spilled some wine onto one of the tables and whispered over its surface. It changed and showed him Georgi sleeping in the doorway of a stone house. Yuuri laughed and whispered something else. The surface showed him Victor asleep in their bed. He tapped the surface twice with his finger and the vision dissipated.

He was a magician once more! He could do anything he wished. He could conquer Faerie, if the desire took him and rule over all of its kingdoms. He would close all the roads to Faerie and banish magic from England once more. He could make everyone a magician.

 He laughed hard, letting his head drop onto the table. It was all so amusing. Why did he hide away from the world? Why had he run from England? Was he frightened that someone would punish him for bringing magic back? Who would dare to punish him? He could do whatever he liked and no one in the whole world could stop him!

He thought of Victor and smiled. He crossed the kitchen with exaggerated care and climbed the stairs to his room.

Victor still lay asleep where Yuuri had left him. Moonlight fell from the window and illuminated him.

Yuuri sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch Victor’s face. He could win Victor’s heart over with his magic, he thought. He could win Victor’s heart over with his magic, he thought. He could make Victor forget about everyone else in the world and only see him.

Victor turned over, oblivious as before of Yuuri’s thoughts, and continued to sleep.

Yuuri took his hand away and turned away from Victor. He needed to do something incredible to impress Victor. He could raise, or lower the water in Venice, or build an entirely new city merely for the two of them. They could live there in peace from everyone else. Yes, he told himself, that was an excellent idea.

 

Yuuri awoke to the sound of Victor’s singing. He was not a good singer, but his voice was pleasant enough that Yuuri was not troubled by the occasional wrong note.

He opened his eyes and saw his husband standing by the window in his dressing gown. A gentle breeze brought the smell of the sea into the room.

Victor turned and met Yuuri’s eye. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning,” he whispered back.

Victor crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached down and caught a kiss just as a knock sounded on the door.

With a laugh, Victor pulled away. Yuuri sat up and pulled his blankets about himself and watched his husband approach the door.

Victor accepted a note from someone standing on the other side. He closed the door and returned with it to Yuuri’s side.

“How odd!” he exclaimed, turning the paper over in his hand. “It is addressed to “the magician”. Does anyone but our families know we are here?”

Yuuri remembered his encounter with Georgi the previous day and paled, but then, he reasoned, Georgi would not send him a note. He always came in person, if there was something that he wished to say.

“I do not know,” he replied at last.

Victor studied the paper in silence before asking, “May I open it?”

Yuuri, afraid of what the contents of the note would be, was unable to think of a suitable excuse to keep Victor from reading it. He had no choice but to grant him his permission.

He waited in fear and suspense as Victor unfolded the note and studied its contents. “It is blank!” he exclaimed and handed it to Yuuri.

Yuuri turned it over several times, but could only find the words “to the magician” on it. Perhaps it had come from Georgi after all, he thought and whispered, “He means to frighten me.”

“Who?” Victor asked.

“The sender of this letter,” Yuuri answered, hardly stopping to think.

“Perhaps,” Victor agreed, “or perhaps he forgot to write you a letter and had sent it incomplete.”

The idea was so amusing that, for a moment, Yuuri forgot all his misgivings and laughed.

They dressed for breakfast and descended the steps, making for the café where they joined Mr. Giacometti as always.

Yuuri expected Victor to mention the note to their friend, but was pleasantly surprised when Victor made no reference to it at all and thus breakfast promised to be uneventful until a noise growing in volume made them turn their heads to the end of the street where a large crowd came rushing down the street.

“What is the matter?” Yuuri exclaimed in alarm.

All three men rose to their feet and Yuuri felt around in his pocket for the bottle with the tincture.

The crowd arrived at their table and stopped, circling around them as though wishing to cut off all possible avenues for escape.

“What is the meaning of this?” Victor demanded, stepping in front of Yuuri.

One of the men in the crowd stepped forward. “Is one of you _il mago_? The magician?” he translated.

Mr. Giacometti chuckled. “What a strange question!”

Yuuri made a step forward, but Victor held out his arm to prevent him from getting closer to the crowd. “Why do you think there is a magician among us?” Victor asked and Yuuri noted that he had spoken up before Yuuri could say a single word.

“An island appeared overnight in the middle of the sea,” the man who had spoken on behalf of the crowd explained. “It is full of strange creatures. There is a castle there, but no people that we could see. We heard about the magic in England. You make cities grow out of the ground and tell the forests to move out of your way. Did one of you do this?”

Mr. Giacometti laughed as Victor straightened up indignantly, preparing himself for a passionate defence. Before either of them could say a word, however, a voice cut in with, “This was my doing. I am the magician.”

Everyone watched in amazement as Yuuri stepped forward.

“Yuuri!” Victor began to protest, but Yuuri refused to take his words back.

“I created the new island,” Yuuri went on relentlessly. “Will you punish me for it?”

Now it was the newcomer’s turn to look surprised. “But what is the island for?”

Yuuri reached back and took Victor’s hand without looking. “It is a present for my husband,” came his answer.

Just then everyone discovered that they had urgent business elsewhere. No one wished to anger a magician who had the power to create an island from nothing.

“Your full name is Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, is it not?” Mr. Giacometti asked.

Yuuri found that he could not meet the man’s eye. “It is,” he admitted.

“When we first met I suspected as much,” Mr. Giacometti told him. “I thought it was surprising that you were a magician, but, then, I am not a magician, so who am I to say what magicians ought to be like?”

“Is it true? Did you really make an island?” Victor asked in a whisper.

Yuuri nodded. He could only remember thinking about an island. Had he done the magic and forgotten about it, or had the thought been enough to make one?

Not for the first time, he wished that there were other magicians more knowledgeable than he was. He also wished he still had his books so that he could search for similar situations to his own, but there were no one he could confide in and he had lost all his books in that fight with the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

Victor put his arms around Yuuri’s right arm. “I should very much like to see this island,” he declared.

Mr. Giacometti expressed the same wish and Yuuri admitted that he, too, wished to see this island.

This earned him a lot of surprised questions and at last he was forced to confess that the magic had been done from a distance and that he never got a chance to see for himself the end result. He continued to hide the fact that he had forgotten entirely about doing the magic, hoping that this way he would be able to avoid many more uncomfortable questions.

Half an hour later all three of them were in a boat headed for the island. Yuuri had expected some difficulty in hiring a boat, but the _gondolieri_ were not as frightened of the new island as Yuuri had thought they would be.

The trip was not long. Both Victor and Mr. Giacometti must have noticed Yuuri’s discomfort when they had discussed going to the island and decided to spend the journey discussing other matters. They talked about the weather and compared it to that in the different cities they had lived in. Just as they concluded that the weather in Venice pleased them more than that in other places, the gondolier spoke up in Italian.

“He is saying that the island is the one in front of us,” Mr. Giacometti translated.

Yuuri and Victor turned to look.

At first glance the island looked very much like the other islands which make up the city of Venice, but once they were close enough Yuuri began to notice what made this island different from all of the others. First he noticed that there were far more trees on this island than on any of the others, but stranger still was that the trees grew on any available surface – many of them on the roofs of the houses which lined the streets of the island. Next he saw that what he had taken for houses were the odd-shaped ruins of a large palace. Birds filled the air with their songs, but they sounded nothing like the birds he was used to hearing.

Mr. Giacometti exclaimed in surprise. “I must be hearing things! For a moment I was quite certain that the birds were calling out “Victor”.”

Yuuri did not dare meet Victor’s eye as his cheeks coloured with embarrassment.

Victor squeezed his hand and said nothing. He was very flattered.

For a while they were silent, content to walk through the island as though to explore it, but Yuuri could tell by the heaviness of the silence that all of them were lost in thought and in Yuuri’s case, at least, too lost in thought to make sense of his surroundings.

After some time a sense of wrongness came over him. If this was his present for Victor, it was not a very good one: there were palace ruins here, but no proper palace to speak of. The strange song of the birds sounded less pleasant with every passing minute. The trees were all barren and something about their shapes was very unlike trees.

Up ahead the ruins formed a room with three walls and he headed straight for it, curious to see what it held. When he entered it he circled the table in the middle, staring at the only object on it – a glass of water.

“How strange!” he exclaimed and raised his eyes, expecting to hear one of his companions make a remark.

Only then did he notice that he was alone.

He lowered his eyes to the glass of water, all too conscious of his desire to do magic.

The bottle with the tincture was still in his pocket and he added two drops of its contents to the glass of water before he had time to change his mind.

 

“Which way did Yuuri go?” Victor asked, looking about himself.

Mr. Giacometti wondered how best to answer such a question. He had not seen Yuuri leave. The man must have walked away while he had turned away. He realized then that the man in question was a magician and wondered if he had left by magical means and, if so, if there was a hope of them finding him by ordinary means.

Victor looked about himself with worry. He always fretted when Yuuri and he became separated. At first Mr. Giacometti thought that this was due to the nature of his love for his husband, but now he began to suspect that there was something more behind it.

There was no obsessiveness or jealousy in Victor’s manner that would suggest an unhealthy attachment. No, this was worry of a different sort. It was as though every time they separated Yuuri left to go fight in a war, or found some other means to place his life in danger.

Mr. Giacometti wondered about this. If out of the two of them Victor had been the magician, then it would have made perfect sense, but since this was not the case, what possible explanation could there be for such strange behaviour?

Then without any warning at all Yuuri was there with them.

There was something different about him this time. He stood with a confidence Mr. Giacometti had never seen from him and a smile that was almost impudent played on his lips.

Victor hesitated for a moment before rushing to his side and telling him how much he had missed his husband’s company.

Yuuri put his arms around Victor and brought him close for a kiss. Normally, Mr. Giacometti was not the sort of man to complain about what others called indecent behaviour and he was not about to complain now, but it occurred to him that in this instance a great many people would have.

When Yuuri released Victor the man clung on to him, looking as though he was about to faint. “Let me show you the island,” Yuuri offered.

Victor gave his consent with a nod and they set out together.

Mr. Giacometti followed, suspecting that they had forgotten about him.

They passed ruins, which transformed into a beautiful and spacious chambers. At a wave of the magician’s arm statues and fountains appeared in little squares. Gold details grew over the walls like vines. It was unlike anything Mr. Giacometti had ever seen and it was also frightening.

He studied both of them closely. Yuuri continued to behave unlike his usual self, but Victor smiled and acted as though nothing was amiss.

 _He must see the marked difference in Yuuri,_ Mr. Giacometti reasoned. _Who else would see it, if not him?_

If Victor saw it, he did not show any surprise or alarm and, upon further reflection, Mr. Giacometti decided that perhaps this was proof that there was no cause for alarm. Perhaps Yuuri always underwent a change when he performed his magic. Reasoning thus, he pushed his worries to the back of his mind and did his best to forget them.

 

Victor’s lips smiled, but his heart hammered quickly from fear. Something was amiss. He could not explain what it was, but his heart told him that something was.

At first he feared that this was a trick and that someone other than Yuuri was before him now, but he dismissed this notion at once. This was his husband, he was certain of it.

As he observed Yuuri he promised himself to find the reason for this change and held on tightly to his husband’s arm.

He hardly spared a glance for the rooms of the palace that Yuuri had created for him. He could not help feeling indifferent about his surroundings – it was difficult to keep his eyes off Yuuri for long when he radiated so much confidence.

Once they completed their tour of the palace Yuuri suggested (just as Victor had suspected he would), “We can stay the night here. What do you say to that?”

To stay in an island alone with only one other person for company would by many people be considered foolish, but Victor was not among their number. “Yes,” he agreed. Then, remembering about Mr. Giacometti, he turned and gave him an apologetic smile. “You are, no doubt, tired and eager to go back. We shall not hold you here against your will.”

Mr. Giacometti gave him a doubtful look, as though he had expected them to force him to remain with them. But once he saw that they had meant what they said, he bowed and wished them all the best.

He turned slowly and walked away. Victor watched him go with a sad smile.

“How will he return to the main island?” he asked, not turning to look at Yuuri.

“The gondolier is still here,” Yuuri said and held out his arm to Victor.

Victor took the offered arm and they turned to go into main rooms of the palace.

 

Two days in the palace were enough to show Victor that it was too big and too empty.

On the first night he woke up convinced it had all been nothing more than a dream, which he expected to disperse as soon as he rose from his bed, but the palace remained around him.

He turned his head and found that Yuuri’s place was empty.

Victor dressed and set off on a search for his husband. It did not take him long to find him.

Yuuri sat by a pool full of gold fish. His knees were raised to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs as his eyes stared unseeingly at the water.

Victor stepped carefully forwards. What was on his mind? What was troubling him so much?

Yuuri raised his hand and studied his palm. “The Raven King is not finished with you yet,” he whispered.

Victor turned away and tiptoed out.

They returned to the main island for food, but Victor could see that it was hard for Yuuri to go anywhere that was filled with people. He kept his head lowered and shuddered from time to time.

“Yuuri? Victor said gently. “Are you feeling unwell?”

His head rose sharply. “Why do you say that?”

“You look very pale,” Victor admitted.

“I am well,” Yuuri lied and Victor felt his heart sink in his chest.

Mr. Giacometti joined them then and they both put on smiles and feigned the great happiness that neither of them felt.

When evening came Yuuri changed one more and took Victor back to the island of his making.

A week went by – seven days all hard to distinguish from one another. Victor’s worry grew with each passing day. Not knowing how to put his fears into words, he could not speak about them directly to Yuuri. He wished he could confide in someone, but he had grown used to having Yuuri as his closest confidant and did not think it right to tell someone what he dared not tell Yuuri. If only Mari had travelled with them, then he could have turned to her for help.

On the morning of the eighth day Victor happened upon Yuuri sitting alone by the water once more. He sat shivering as though he was cold.

Victor stepped behind one of the columns and watched him. Yuuri’s hair had grown longer during their time in Venice. His clothes, the state of which Victor had thought to be acceptable before, were in urgent need of repair.

Yuuri studied his reflection and must have made the same observations because he gave a heavy sigh. He raised a glass of water in one hand. His other hand produced the bottle with the strange liquid that Victor had seen before. Yuuri put one drop of it into the water and the air filled with the thick smell of cats.

Victor shuddered, but continued to watch as Yuuri downed the contents of the glass.

He changed before Victor’s eyes. He sat straighter with that air of confidence that Victor still found very surprising. He peered at his reflection and made a sound of disapproval. “Good god! I cannot appear before Victor looking like this! My necktie looks as though it had been tied by a ploughman!”

In other circumstances a remark such as this one would have made Victor laugh, but now it only served to increase his worry.

Yuuri was indifferent about his appearance. For many years it had been Victor’s duty to make certain that his husband looked presentable, but here he was – frowning at his reflection and making small adjustments to improve his appearance.

Victor remembered then that once Yuuri was done he was likely to go looking for him and hurried away to return to their bedchamber.

Two more days passed thus. Twice Victor witnessed in secret the change that came over Yuuri after he drank from his bottle. By the end of each day he looked more tired than before.

On the evening of the second day Yuuri sat with his back resting against a cold stone with Victor at his side. They were watching the sun set.

Victor turned his head, losing all interest in the sunset and concentrating all of his attention on Yuuri. He sat with his eyes closed. Each of his breaths was accompanied by a shudder, as though it required a great effort. His face was paler than ever before and Victor noted with some surprise that his hair had gotten longer than he had ever seen it.

“Yuuri!” Victor cried out in alarm.

“I am…” He gasped for air and then raised a hand. “…I just need to…” he reached into his pocket for the bottle and Victor called upon all his own resolve to try and stop him. Victor’s hands closed over Yuuri’s. “We must return to the mainland and there I will send for a doctor at once.”

“I have no need of… a doctor,” the words came out with great difficulty and it pained Victor’s heart to see him struggle so. Perhaps, in other circumstances he would have relented, but not this time, not when he had seen the effect the bottle’s contents had on Yuuri.

“Give me the bottle,” Victor ordered. His voice was gentle, but firm.

Yuuri handed it to him without protest. He did not even ask how Victor knew about it and Victor suspected that this was because he could not recall that he had never told Victor about it. Was Victor being too fanciful, or was this proof that Yuuri had trouble remembering what had happened and what had not?

It took a great deal of effort to resist the urge to upend the contents of the bottle at once. “Yuuri,” he said, one hand still holding Yuuri’s, “this is only making you ill. You need to stop. You must rest.”

Yuuri realized what Victor was about to do and reached out to snatch the bottle back.

Victor moved his hand to keep it beyond Yuuri’s reach. “No, my love, you must see that this is not doing you any good.”

“But I cannot do any magic without it!” Yuuri protested.

Victor raised his hand and placed it over Yuuri’s cheek. “What have you done to yourself, Yuuri? You know you can do magic without this,” he whispered. “You are a magician through and through.”

Still Yuuri protested, but Victor refused to accept anything he said. At last Yuuri lowered his head and admitted defeat.

“You are right,” he said and Victor’s heart ached at the pain in his voice.

With a sigh of relief, Victor moved away and opened the bottle. He stopped at the water’s edge, changed his mind and closed the bottle.

“Wait here for me,” he told Yuuri and walked with quick steps to where they had left their boat.

He climbed into it and rowed away from the island. Once he judged that he was far enough, he opened the bottle once more and spread its contents around. At last he dropped the bottle too.

It bobbed on the surface before sinking below the waves.

Victor let out a sigh of relief and rowed back to the island.

He found his husband sitting with his hands covering his face.

Victor lowered himself onto his knees before Yuuri and clutched his husband’s head to his heart. “We must return home, Yuuri. You need rest. Do not fear anything. I will take care of you now. I promise to not leave you alone.”

“I will not do magic anymore,” Yuuri promised.

“You will,” a new voice insisted.

They turned to see Georgi leaning against one of the columns. “It is time you learned who I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing! These last few weeks were a little crazy for me and I had very little time to write. I hope I'll get to post the last chapter soon! It shouldn't be that long...
> 
> Also, it looks like I'll be hitting my goal of 100k for this fic.


	16. The Raven King’s Book

_Mr. Alexandrov lived in the northernmost part of Yorkshire. After his father’s death he inherited a small estate, a dozen servants and a library, which contained a book in a language that neither he nor his father could read._

_Mr. Alexandrov was in regular correspondence with the priest of a small town ten miles away, who could read the language in which the book had been written. The priest had an open and honest character, but he refused to tell anyone how he had come to learn this language. Fortunately, Mr. Alexandrov did not hold this against him and allowed him to come to his library whenever he desired to read the book, an offer that the priest made use of frequently._

_One day the priest sent word to Mr. Alexandrov, asking if he could borrow the book for several days._

_Mr. Alexandrov gave his permission and sent his most trusted servant with the book._

_It was an unfortunate trait of Mr. Alexandrov’s character that he often trusted people who did not deserve his trust. This was the reason why he did not know that the servant he sent was not fit for the task he had been given._

_This servant was Pavel Popovich, a man who was often found drunk, who had a quick temper which often got him into fights._

_Pavel stopped at a tavern to stay the night before continuing on. The first person he found was his old friend Mikhail who often drank with him. That night was no different._

_For both men drinking was a competition to see what each of them could do after drinking. Once they drank enough they gave each other challenges._

_Pavel told Mikhail to turn over a barrel of fish and walk over them, which Mikhail did, slipping and falling many times much to Pavel’s amusement._

_Next it was Mikhail’s turn to think of a challenge. He sat and thought for a long time before at last he had it._

_Pavel had arrived boasting of the book he was ordered to deliver. His task, Mikhail said, was to eat the whole book, not missing the page or the covers._

_Pavel shrugged his shoulders and produced the book from the inside pocket of his coat. He tore the first page out and stuffed it into his mouth, the next page soon followed it, and the next until there were no more left. To Mikhail’s astonishment, Pavel swallowed the entire thing without stopping to think and even downed the covers._

_Such a daring feat called for more drinks until both men had enough to make them lose consciousness._

_Morning dawned, following by noon, and at last Pavel came to his senses. He saw Mikhail’s sleeping form, saw the empty bottles and remembered what he had done. Having no book to deliver now, he ran from the inn to find a place where he could hide from his master._

_He went from master to master until he came to a house where he tumbled a maid, who gave birth to a son she named Georgi and who grew without a father, knowing him only by name and reputation._

_The boy was one and twenty when at last his father’s master had Pavel imprisoned and put on trial for book murder. It was an old charge and one not brought before a court for over two hundred years, but this did not stop the court from finding Pavel guilty and sentencing him to hanging by the neck until dead._

_The priest died, taking what he knew of the book with him, and not long after Mr. Alexandrov died as well._

Georgi stood before Yuuri and Victor as he finished delivering his tale. He took great pleasure in the attention he was receiving and took a long time to tell his story. He made frequent pauses to lament about his own fatherless state only to interrupt himself to curse and shout that Pavel had been no father to him.

Yuuri and Victor listened in silence, curious to know what Georgi wished to tell them. Why was he recounting this to them now?

He smiled. “I know for certain that this was not a book that you own.”

Yuuri gave a heavy sigh as he lowered his head. “I do not possess any books of magic. Like my abilities, they are no more.”

“You have this book now,” Georgi declared. “I dare say that it is far greater than any of the books you once had.”

Both Yuuri and Victor were about to ask how he could be certain of this when Georgi showed them. It was then that they understood what must be done.

 

Magic had too strong a hold on Yuuri for it to be possible for him to abandon it altogether. Both he and Victor understood it now. It was the reason why Victor was not surprised to find Yuuri writing at a table while he waited for Victor to join him for breakfast the morning after Georgi’s explanation.

Victor paused in the doorway and watched Yuuri. There were more magicians now, but Victor had no abilities of his own. He wanted more than anything to be rid of magic. He was beginning to wish he could make Yuuri forget all about it, but how was such a thing possible? He considered appealing directly to Yuuri, but knew that no matter what he said Yuuri would not agree to it.

Yuuri sat back and reread what he had written. A faint smile appeared on his face and Victor felt hope bloom in his chest. Perhaps, there was no cause for alarm after all.

He joined Yuuri, giving him a kiss on the forehead and wishing him a good morning.

“Good morning, dear heart,” Yuuri said in return. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” he answered and realized with some surprise that despite all of his worries this was true. “What about you, my love?”

Yuuri set his papers aside as Victor sat down and a maid brought them both breakfast. “I slept well,” he told Victor. “This morning I rose with the idea that I should write down all that I know. Hence all this,” he raised the papers he had been writing on to demonstrate his point.

Victor listened to Yuuri without interrupting him. Again he found himself wishing that Yuuri had never studied magic.

“It was difficult at first,” Yuuri admitted, “but I do not intend to omit anything in my account, especially not my time in Faerie.” A shudder passed over him then.

Victor placed a hand over Yuuri’s. “You need not over-exert yourself,” he insisted. “No one will hold it against you, if you choose to omit the memories, which cause you pain.”

“I admit that I thought the same myself,” Yuuri confessed, “but once I got over my initial hesitation, I found the words flowed easily.”

Victor could think of no objections to make to this and he accepted, promising himself to watch over Yuuri and interfere as soon as he saw any proof that recording what had happened to him was causing Yuuri pain.

As the days passed Victor observed a contentment settle over Yuuri. It was as though with every word he wrote down the heavy weight bearing down on his soul was lifted.

Several times Georgi arrived to find Victor studying Yuuri. “Do you still not see it?” he asked in a low voice one evening.

Victor was silent.

“Your husband is the spell that the Raven King has cast,” Georgi explained. “For him to stop doing magic would be to go against his own nature.”

Victor watched Yuuri write. Was such a thing possible? He had heard much about the Raven King and was willing to believe that the magician could do anything, but if what Georgi said was true, what did it mean for Yuuri and for himself?

“Do you mean to say that the Raven King created Yuuri, or that the Raven King cast a spell that determines what happens to Yuuri?”

Georgi scratched his face. “Which do you suppose it is?” he asked and left before Victor could ask another question.

Again Victor turned to Yuuri. Had their decisions all been made for them? What would Yuuri say if someone told him that his entire life had been determined for him long before he was born?

He entered the room and put his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders to place a kiss on the top of his head. Victor knew that he would never find an answer to these questions, but he was determined to carry Georgi’s words with him to the grave.

 

England’s ministers argued in parliament. What was to be done about all the new magicians? They needed to revive the old laws which had not been in use for over three hundred years, but still they argued. No, more than ever before, they felt the full weight of Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’s absence. They needed his knowledge of magic to help them decide what to do and, as a result, almost a year went by during which they could not agree on a single course of action.

Some of them wished they could turn to Sir Otabek, convinced that, as Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov’s friend, he was well-suited to tell them what the magician would have recommended. Alas, Sir Otabek left with his husband without giving any reason for his absence. People were eager to attribute all manner of reasons to his departure and some believed that Sir Otabek had become a magician himself and feared that the ministers would make use of him in the same way that they had done with Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.

Just as the ministers came to a decision at last a notice appeared in the newspapers. It was addressed to all magicians and invited them to come to an address in York where the writer claimed they would all learn something of great importance to the future of English magic.

The announcement lead to a big commotion among all of England’s magicians. Many became very indignant at being addressed in this way by someone they did not know. Others expressed the concern that the writer did not specify what they meant by all magicians and said that it was bound to give the wrong idea to the wrong sort of people. Many vowed that they would not be seen there, no matter what the circumstances.

A great number of magicians expressed the desire to see for themselves what the matter of great importance was. It will come as no surprise to anyone that Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia were among their number.

When the appointed day came everyone gathered in rooms right below those used by the York Society of Magicians.

Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia arrived first and watched with interest as each new person entered the room.

To their amazement, among the people to arrive were Lord Yuri and Sir Otabek. Captain Mil and her wife followed soon after. Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia had a long whispered conference during which they were unable to decide if one of the two of them was a magician, or if they had come with the hope of seeing Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov and his husband.

Several women arrived, accompanied by chaperones. One man came with his daughter, which earned him several unpleasant remarks until the daughter rose to her feet and announced proudly that she was a magician and that, if her father had not insisted on accompanying her, she would have come alone.

At last, when the room was so full of people that no one could imagine how any more could possibly fit, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov walked in through the doorway, leaning on his husband’s arm.

He had the look of a man who was recovering from a long illness and for a short time there was a stunned silence in the room as all of its inhabitants contemplated England’s most powerful magician.

Yuuri released his husband’s arm and gave everyone a weak smile. “You will, I hope, forgive the strange manner in which I have asked you all to come here. In a few days’ time, I suspect that there will be a great many rumours spread about me. The truth, however, is this: I have lost all of my books of magic.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Yuuri shifted uneasily and Victor whispered several words of encouragement to him.

“I have taken the time to write down all I can remember and all that I have learned. I will soon publish a book containing all of that knowledge,” he hesitated and added, “It will be in English so that everyone can understand. However, I did not ask you all to come here merely to tell you this.”

He turned his head to the door and called out, “Georgi!”

The yellow curtain magician entered the room with a slight swagger in each step. He regarded everyone with an impudent smile, as though daring them to challenge his right to be at the centre of attention.

Several people in the room assumed indignant expressions and considered leaving at once without listening to what Yuuri had to say.

“There are some among you who will, I suspect, not be happy with the prospect of basing all your knowledge of magic on one book and you will, of course, be correct.” Now the smile he gave them was softer. “I have found that every writer has a bias and cannot be fully trusted.” These words were said in a lower voice.

Several people stepped closer to listen.

“This is the reason why I brought you a book I have never read myself. This is the Raven King’s book and I hope that we can work together to understand what it says.”

He gestured towards Georgi and the man rolled up his sleeves to reveal the skin of his arms. It was covered in strange symbols written in blue ink.

“Yuuri!” Captain Mila exclaimed, stepping to the front of the crowd. “Do you mean to say that you will take pupils?”

Yuuri looked about the room and saw the eager expressions on their faces. He realized that very few of them had understood the full significance behind his announcement. What did the Raven King’s book mean to them when, just like all the others, it was written in a different language.

They had yet to discover Georgi’s ability to awaken dormant magical powers with a single touch. They had yet to discover the thrill of reading a book of magic and studying its meaning. They had yet to see it all, to miss many hours of sleep merely to construct a spell and to awake in the morning to attempt it and to see it do precisely what it was made for.

Victor was at his side, worrying as always. Yuuri knew that he too could become a magician, if he desired it.

England was full of magicians and he was just one of a great number. He smiled.

“I will teach magic to anyone who wishes to learn it,” he promised, “but I cannot claim to have all the answers to all your questions.”

After all, he thought, even the Raven King could not have known everything that was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is to another fic completed! When I started it, I did not expect to spend so many months writing this fic, but here it is at last. Thank you to everyone who stuck with it until the end! Thank you for the comments and kudos!
> 
> I want to finish the WIPs I still have left (namely Ghost and Eros and the Bunny), but I admit that I also want to write a fic for Carole & Tuesday. The anime is just so sweet that it demands a fic.


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